


Embers to Ashes

by energyboyeric



Category: Day6 (Band), GOT7, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dowoon is mysterious, Epic Battles, High Fantasy, M/M, Outlaw Jae, Pirate Ateez, Prince Kang Younghyun, Quests, Royal Guard Jackson Wang, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sungjin lives in the woods, Swordfights, Wonpil is but a poor farm boy, i literally went all out, i'm sorry about that but they make really cool villains and like they're ??, so buckle in, stray kids are evil, these tags have no order, they're great you'll see, this story has so much fuckign lore, wonpil is basically katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/energyboyeric/pseuds/energyboyeric
Summary: On the day of his coronation, Prince Kang Younghyun is forced to flee his kingdom when a group of violent revolutionaries seize the throne. As a new, malicious king with evil intentions rises to power, Younghyun watches his home fall into terror and despair, powerless and unable to come out of hiding. When word reaches him of a possible way to take back what's now rightfully his, and restore peace throughout the kingdom, he has no choice but to hunt it down- no matter what it costs him in the end.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kang Younghyun | Young K/Park Jaehyung | Jae, Kim Wonpil/Yoon Dowoon
Comments: 60
Kudos: 60
Collections: Day6 OTPs





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> here we go for a second time gamers, this story is my life and blood and heart and soul and it might take me years to finish but i will noT rest until it's done. so enjoy !!

The sun hangs low on the horizon above Ceol, painting the sides of its towering buildings a deep tawny; though the afternoon is drawing to a close, the streets are still busy, crowded to their limits with swarms of people. Merchants, their booths lining the cobblestone sidewalks, call out in hopes of attracting customers, and people dart in and out of shops, parting from and rejoining the immense crowd. The capital is always busy like this, always full of commotion and noise and vibrant life, presented proudly in the colorful banners hanging high above the roads and the impressive murals decorating the face of nearly every building.

As the sun crawls lower and lower, the sky begins to become darker, the light of day slowly seeping out of the fabric of the heavens and giving way to the deep abyss of night. The stone brick skyscrapers of the capital city of the kingdom, built laboriously many hundreds of years ago, cast long shadows across the streets.

Amidst this chaos is the perfect setting for one who does not want to be noticed, or perhaps one that does not want to be found. At the very heart of Ceol, it’s rather easy to pass through completely unnoticed by even the trained eyes of the many lawmen that patrol the streets.

A hooded man stands in the shadow of an awning, tucked into the corner between a florist’s shop and a bookstore; he watches as civilians pass by him, mothers with children swinging off their arms, carriages laiden with passengers and goods, without ever even noticing that he’s there. Like water, movements swift and smooth as silk, he darts out from his hiding place and seamlessly joins the crowd as it travels down the street, slipping into the flow of it as if he had been there all along.

His face is shadowed by his hood, hiding his identity from anyone who might be curious. For quite some time he navigates the main streets, stepping nimbly, being sure to keep his head down, inconspicuous. The shadows of the setting sun work to his advantage, providing cover as he expertly conceals himself within them.

And then, as quick as he emerged, he disappears again, darting down a narrow alleyway and leaping up onto a crumbling stone wall, catlike, disturbingly precise in his movements. The sides of the buildings here are different than the ones on the brighter, more traveled streets, the windows boarded up or jagged and shattered, the dazzling artwork exchanged for cruder graffiti. 

Steps making nearly no noise as he travels deeper into the darker, more isolated parts of the city, the air begins to become stiller, heavier. The alleyways are tall and narrow, bricks slashed over with red paint bearing messages-  _ Death to the King,  _ or  _ Down With the Empire,  _ the sort of horrifying propaganda that would make most citizens of the kingdom shiver- but he doesn’t seem to mind them at all. No, on the contrary, the suggestion of a satisfied grin appears on his face as he regards the walls dripping in hatred, in malice, as he breathes in air that stinks of brewing revolution. 

Suddenly, he makes a leap for the side of a particularly decrepit building, clawing his way up the wall with practiced ease until he reaches the rooftop, where he finally stops, showing no sign that the climb took him any effort at all.

From up here, it’s easy to see the castle, spires and towers built gracefully into a hillside, where it gently slopes backwards into the earth; in the evening light it looks especially magnificent, starkly contrasted light and shadow making it appear sharper, more bold, against the cloudless sky. Far above it, so high that it appears as nothing more than a speck, is a shape, wheeling in great circles; he watches as it descends, diving steeply and rapidly, growing larger until its enormous leathery wings and glinting scales are recognizable- a dragon, a beast, so massive and powerful that it could demolish an entire battalion with a single blow if it wished to.

It alights on the tallest tower, folding its great wings, and lets out a mighty roar as it sweeps its gaze across the vast kingdom of Ethermore; even from what must be a mile away, he feels its gaze pass through him, sharp and ferocious, and he resists the urge to flinch away.

He cannot wait to drive his sword through its heart.

“Han.” A voice pierces the air, and he calmly turns towards it. Another cloaked man approaches him, removing his hood as he approaches and revealing a head of shockingly white, wild curls. He nods curtly in greeting, looking around once before removing his own hood.

“Bang.” The other man’s face splits into a smile, tainted by the maliciousness weakly concealed behind it, the knowledge of the plan they’re about to put into motion. A scar runs the length of the left side of his face, directly over his eye, stretching from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m glad to see you made it here alive,” Bang says, “you know how things have been lately.” Han’s sure he’s glad to see him alive, but not because he cares for him- no, if it were any other situation than this, he’d have him slaughtered on the floor by now. He needs him to carry out his  _ filthy  _ plans, ones he’s too cowardly to perform himself- but for a cause he’s convinced Han is for the better, in his best interests. And he’s paying a steep sum, so really, why should he say no?

Still, Han is conscious of the daggers tucked in a holster inside his boot, on the inside of his wrist, at his belt, of the crossbow and bolts strapped on his back and concealed by his cloak; should Bang or any of his men make a move to harm him, he is well prepared. 

“You know I’m as careful as they come,” he responds. Anybody with his ideals and motives, anybody in his line of work,  _ needs  _ to be careful- he wouldn’t be alive right now if he wasn’t. Things have been getting more dangerous lately, as Bang and his band of revolutionaries stir up more and more trouble in Ceol and the surrounding cities- they’ve been becoming impatient. Bang chuckles, something dark glinting in his eyes.

“Of course.” He turns, watching the sunset for a moment, pensive gaze resting on the palace, on the dragon still perched atop its highest spire. “Did you know it’s the last of its kind?” 

“What?”

“The beast,” he says, “it’s a shame, really. Such  _ magnificent  _ creatures,” he says, lip curling, “driven to near extinction just because the royals are too  _ selfish  _ to let anybody else even  _ touch  _ them. Such a waste,” he tuts, “of so much  _ power. _ ”

“Why then,” Han asks, “do you want me to kill it?”

“Well, we both know of the special little. . .  _ bond _ it shares with our precious king, don’t we? You kill one,” he smiles wickedly, drawing a finger across his throat, “and you automatically kill the other. And after that, it’ll be  _ chaos, _ ” Bang laughs, “chaos enough for my men and I to take control, and restore power to who it  _ really  _ belongs to.”

“And what of the heir? He’s in line to become king in a week’s time,” Han points out.

“Well, Hannie,” Bang says, “I suppose you'll just have to kill  _ him _ too.” 

“Will I be paid sufficiently for that as well?” Han shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Is the money all you care about?” Bang feigns hurt, “Don’t you crave  _ vengeance?  _ Aren’t you glad that you’re finally able to bring down the very king who  _ killed _ your parents?” Han sets his jaw, gaze hardening as he’s reminded of the other, deeper reason why he agreed to this job. Visions flash behind his eyes, still stained there after all these years, of shattered glass and blood spattered on the floor, of heavy, motionless bodies and a tattered, red-stained cloth bearing the royal crest placed in the middle of it all- of his own desperate screams and cries, orphaned at a mere five years old by the army that was supposed to be  _ protecting  _ him- and he straightens up, sets his shoulders, because he never forgave the king.

And he  _ never _ will.

“When do you want it done?”

“Precisely a week from now,” Bang says, lazily resting his elbows on the ledge of the roof as he gazes hungrily at the castle that will soon be his, “when the sun is highest in the sky, and our beloved heir to the Kang dynasty is just about to take his place as king- you’ll strike down the king’s beast, and in the chaos kill the son as well. Once my men have secured the castle for me, I’ll send you handsome pay to wherever you might be hiding, and you can live a satisfied life knowing your family has been  _ sufficiently  _ avenged- and know that the kingdom will be in  _ much  _ better hands than it was before.”

Without hesitation, Han take’s Bang’s hand and shakes it firmly, binding himself to what might be the most dangerous job of his life. When the dragon atop the palace gives its last roar of the night, he swears it sounds almost mournful, keening, as if it understands its days are now numbered.

Lifting his hood once more, Han leaps over the edge of the rooftop, nimbly landing on the ground far below, and, swift and agile, melts into the shadows of the back alleys of Ceol. He has much to plan and prepare, if he ever hopes to be successful; but Bang set something afire in him at the mention of his parent’s brutal murders, something he doubts will be easily doused.

He looks up at the stars flickering gradually into existence high in the sky, at the last, dying rays of sunlight- the moon is full tonight, glowing bright as it takes the place of the sun.

He knows it now, for sure-

In one week’s time, the king will be dead.


	2. Nonetheless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YALL i forgot to edit out a few of my notes to myself last chapter because i usually did that in post but i forgoT and i never beta read whooPS so uh,, hehe whoops,, a bit of a bêtise yes. also NOTE i changed the kingdom name from Solas to Ethermore becayse i fucking hate the first name it's a terrible name and i despise it. The new name is slightly better but still not finalized. i can name countless towns and cities fine but kingdoms are a major roadblock i cant make them sound GOOD enough ugh
> 
> ok happy reading bhdsbfdvh i checked this one over for goofs don't worry

Warm sunlight filters through the windows of the library, causing the room to glow softly; flecks of dust dance in the beams, particles blown off of the thousands of old volumes that sit on the shelves, rows and columns lining the walls, climbing so high that they seem to spiral upwards until they disappear. A staircase follows with it, well worn and made of stone, the footsteps of generations of scholars forever imprinted on their scuffed and scratched surface. Right now, during the early afternoon, it is nearly empty- most of the staff aren’t needed when almost all of the attendees are outside, frantically prepping for the biggest event of the century.

The center of this event himself, hidden away in a corner so deep inside the massive library that even the most insistent of servants could never find him, peers intently at the script penned meticulously into a thick book with yellowed pages; seemingly oblivious to the obvious tension in the air, the stress, the very fact that the fate of an  _ entire  _ kingdom will soon rest on his shoulders, he turns page after page, letting time slip by lazily. 

This is the place Younghyun feels most comfortable, surrounded by familiar things, stories and poems and ancient songs and scriptures, all printed in little, inky black letters against soft pages. This is the place where Younghyun escapes, escapes to read, to write, to squeeze into the most shadowed, muffled part of the entire library with his guitar and scribble down a few chords before he forgets them.

As much as the castle feels like home, as it has his whole life, it’s been getting harder to view it that way as it becomes less comfortable and more  _ work.  _ Rides in the fields and forests have been replaced with meetings and conferences, peaceful, late nights spent by the fire exchanged for endless lessons in politics, in battle strategy, in combat, etiquette, and everything in between. 

And outwardly, Youghyun excels- he’s smart, he’s friendly, he’s polite and handsome and fit- but did he ever have a choice? An only child, the sole heir, destined to lead whether he wanted to or not- and destined, he thinks, somewhere deep inside himself, in the darker recesses of his mind, to fail. He’s tried, struggled valiantly, but never been able to  _ see  _ it, never been able to picture a crown of thorns and rubies on his head, an entire kingdom beneath his fingertips, a mighty  _ dragon _ standing by his side.

Then again, he thinks, dejectedly turning another page, it doesn’t matter anyways, whether he  _ wants  _ to or not- it’s more that he  _ needs  _ to. And he knows he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try, anyways.

A knock on the nearest shelf brings him out of his thoughts, the soft noise just sharp enough to jolt him back into the present. He looks up, blinking rapidly to focus on the person poking their head out from behind the books concealing him from the world.

“Greetings,  _ my king. _ ” Jackson grins as he steps out from behind the shelf and bows mockingly, his forehead almost touching the floor. Younghyun stifles a laugh and glares at him instead, putting on his best ‘ _ I am your prince, respect me _ ’ look. It doesn’t work- it never works on Jackson, and it probably never will. But that’s the thing he’s always loved about Jackson, the fact that he never really acted like he was anything special at all, just a friend, a  _ brother-  _ something Younghyun never had.

“Don’t,” Younghyun groans, shutting the book with a loud thump, “stop it, I don’t like that.”

“You’d better  _ start _ liking it,  _ my liege _ ,” Jackson throws him a wink (Younghyun wants to throw his book at him), “or you might find yourself in some trouble after tomorrow.” He leans against the bookshelf, crossing his arms triumphantly.

“Go  _ away _ ,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t- I don’t really want to think about it.” He casts his eyes down, staring at the worn leather cover of his book. Jackson’s voice adopts a more serious tone when he responds.

“You’re going to have to, you know,” he reminds him gently, “and I know you don’t like it, and I know you’re nervous, but you have to. You’re gonna be the best king this kingdom has ever laid  _ eyes  _ on, you hear me?” Younghyun nods mutely. “As for the going away- I hate to break it to you, but I’m not going  _ anywhere. _ ” Younghyun smiles.

“Thanks, I think,” he says.

“Oh, thanks  _ for sure, _ ” Jackson goes on, “you’d definitely die in a matter of seconds if I wasn’t around.” 

“Are you implying you’re anticipating an attempt on my life?” Younghyun raises a skeptical eyebrow. It’s a joke, but they both know the possibility is startlingly high. Younghyun isn’t blind to the unrest and distrust slowly spreading throughout the kingdom, its epicenter located disturbingly close to home in Ceol, and neither is Jackson. They’ve both heard ill-concealed whispers of uprisings, rebellion, nameless, faceless people with malicious intentions and goals.

“Of course not.” Jackson grins, but Younghyun sees his hand instinctively go to his waist; he knows there’s a dagger strapped there, just in case he ever needs to use it- he never has, and hopefully he never will. 

“I can protect myself anyways,” Younghyun reminds him. Jackson laughs, the sound devoid of any real humor- it’s not the first time Younghyun’s said it.

“I know, but I’ll always be your backup.” They fall silent for a moment, the mood dampened with the sudden seriousness; but it’s important, and in truth, Younghyun is glad that he has somebody he can rely on like that.

“I know you got sent to rip me away from my peace and quiet for something,” Younghyun says after a moment, breaking the tense atmosphere, “so what is it?”

“Oh, don’t think so highly of yourself your  _ highness _ , nobody cares about where you are besides me.” All at once, things are humorous again, in that way that only Jackson can pull off.

“That’s a lie,” Younghyun points out, “the whole kingdom cares about where I am. All the time. It’s a well known fact. You’re just particularly annoying, and particularly good at finding me.”

“That is very fair,” Jackson admits, “but you love me anyways.”

“That I do.”

* * *

Jackson eventually coaxes him out of his tranquil hiding spot and back out into the open, leading him through the vast library and into the massive halls of the castle. To Younghyun they’re familiar, the towering ceilings and tall, slender, beautifully arched windows, the paintings and murals hung in intricate golden frames on the walls. 

Their footsteps echo emptily in the wide rooms, as people occasionally slip in and out of countless doorways, doing errands or carrying messages to other parts of the castle. Younghyun’s wonderment at the colossal size of his childhood home has never left him, and still he can appreciate the sprawling estate, the spiraling staircases, the intricately styled architecture. 

Jackson has changed into his more formal uniform now, the characteristic sleek black military look of Ethermore, cuffs and collar decorated with gold accents, and his captain’s badge pinned proudly on his chest. A sword now hangs at his waist, glinting as he walks, tall and proud. 

Sometimes Younghyun forgets how important, how  _ strong,  _ Jackson really is, acting not only as his personal guard (and best friend) but also as a captain of the castle’s army; Younghyun doesn’t think there’s anybody more fit for the position. He’s always been everything that Younghyun never was, confident, outspoken, a  _ leader. _

He thinks, as they walk side by side, that really, Jackson’s more fit to be king than  _ him _ . 

When he voices that thought, Jackson scoffs at him, punches him in the shoulder, and tells him off sternly. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says, “an  _ idiot. _ ” Younghyun rolls his eyes. He leads him up a narrow flight of stairs, and one, he soon realizes, he’s never been in before. 

“Wait, where are we going?” He asks, curious, because there’s almost nowhere in this castle that he  _ hasn’t  _ been. Jackson shrugs helplessly at him. 

“I was only told where to take you,” he explains, “I’ve never been up here before either. Very confidential stuff.” 

They climb further, eventually coming to a rather small room with only one door; Younghyun can only imagine where it leads. He can tell the mystery of it all has Jackson just a little suspicious- he can see the questions flashing behind his eyes, as his fingertips brush the hilt of his sword. 

_ You never know,  _ he always tells him. 

“Me first,” Jackson announces loudly, brushing past him and shoving the door open as nonchalantly as he can. As soon as it opens, sunlight floods the room, and a cool breeze flies in and lifts Younghyun’s hair gently.

He steps out onto what seems like a rooftop platform, concealed completely from sight by a huge wall; it follows the entire length of this end of the castle, the very back, facing away from the capital and instead northwards, towards the mountains. He stares in wonderment at the end of the kingdom he doesn’t see as often, the winding dirt roads snaking in and out of vast evergreen forests, little villages clustered here and there around the edges of the woods, the land becoming more and more wild as sweeps further north. Compared to the populated liveliness of the south, and the bright seaside cities of the west, the north has ruggedness to it that Younghyun doesn’t often appreciate. 

One peak juts out above the rest, slashing its way into the sky, it’s outline hazy from the slight fog settled over the horizon. The Claw is rumored to be the place where the first dragons originated, and the landmark by which the people of Ethermore used to claim their land as their own thousands of years ago. 

“ _ My son. _ ” 

His father’s voice booms across the platform, carried by the wind to Younghyun. He turns, striding over to where he finds him standing, talking with Jackson. 

“Hello, father.” The king of Ethermore is not who he was in his prime, the once strong, proud king now old, frail, thin and wrinkled with age; still, there’s something intimidating, something respectable and admirable, about him- in the way he carries himself perhaps, with the leftover confidence of a once-deadly warrior. Or perhaps it’s the wisdom in his eyes, sparkling in their dark depths with thousands of stories, of battle and triumph, loss and despair, and everything in between. 

The most striking thing about him is the mark, deep green in color, that runs up the length of his arm. Right now it’s concealed by his sleeve, but the very ends of it show on the back of his hand- a tail of emerald scales, trailing over his knuckles and wrapping around his index finger. 

Younghyun has only seen the full mark a few times, but knows it’s magnificent- a dragon, clawing its way up his arm, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. It matches the real dragon that’s nowhere to be found right now, probably off hunting or patrolling the kingdom’s borders. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, not looking at Younghyun but at the kingdom laid out below him. Jackson, sensing that the conversation isn’t one for him to hear, bows lightly and steps away to wait somewhere else. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” The king chuckles softly. 

“You’ll never be truly ready,” he tells him, “I certainly wasn’t. But,” he adds, “you won’t ever be truly alone.” He doesn’t continue, and leaves Younghyun to think while he continues to stare out across the land. 

“Well, of course I won’t,” he says, uncertainty in his voice, “I’ll have you and mother, and Jackson, won’t I?” 

“I suppose you will,” the king says, “but these sorts of things aren’t forever. I’ll guide you while I can, and I know that Captain Wang is loyal, but we’re only human, son. Someday, I will leave your side.” Younghyun furrows his brow, confused, startled by the notion. 

“But-”

“No,” his father continues, “I’m not done yet. You see, there is. . . one thing,” he seems to choose every word carefully, “that will  _ truly  _ never leave you.” Younghyun watches as slowly, he reaches a hand up to the sky, reaching for something he cannot see. 

Suddenly, something huge breaks through the clouds, plunging out of the abyss and into sight; a strong wind nearly succeeds in knocking Younghyun off his feet as huge wings, spanning the length of the entire platform, strain to keep the creature airborne. 

In the afternoon sun, the dragon’s scales shine dazzlingly, beautiful armor plating every inch of its body; claws the length of Younghyun’s arm make huge gashes in the wood of the platform when it alights, sending tremors through the surface. With long, surprisingly elegant strides for a thing of its size, it settles behind his father, the king, folding its wings neatly behind its back, tail swaying menacingly back and forth. Younghyun stares up into its deep, golden eyes, set sharply at the front of its narrow, nearly birdlike face, from which horns spiral upwards into deadly points. 

“Hello, old friend,” his father greets it, placing a hand on one thick, scaly leg. Younghyun’s eyes are drawn once again to the mark curling down his father’s arm, a reminder that even though the king may be old, he is still much more powerful than Younghyun could ever imagine. “She’s been getting anxious,” he explains, “with the current. . . event, coming up. We’re both ready to retire, of course- we’ve both seen more battles than we can count- but I suppose it is hard, handing over something so important to you.” 

Younghyun looks at the weariness in his father's eyes, at the slight unevenness to his slouched posture, at the faint scars on his hands and neck still leftover from wars fought long before he was born. He looks at the dragon, her name too holy, too private for him to ever know, at her chipped scales and tattered wings, at the elegance and beauty marred by the souvenirs of battle. 

“And it’s hard, I suppose,” the king continues, “for a mother to let go of her only child.” Younghyun stares at him for a moment, not fully processing what he’s just said. Then, it slowly dawns upon him, as his father steps aside and reveals what he hadn’t noticed before. 

An egg, deep green to match its mother’s scales, sits nestled in the curve of her tail, curled protectively around it. Younghyun moves to take a step closer, but the dragon bares her teeth at him, letting out a low growl that Younghyun can feel in his chest and flaring her wings out to make her appear larger, even more dangerous than before. Fear blossoming in his chest, despite the fact that he knows she’d never hurt him, he steps back; even from far across the platform, he can hear the scrape of Jackson’s sword leaving its sheath. His father holds up a hand, sighing tiredly at his old partner.

“It’s not leaving you just yet, calm  _ down. _ ” The dragon seems to give a sort of dissatisfied snort, puffs of smoke pluming from her nostrils, but lowers her wings and seems to lose some of her aggression. His father beckons for him to come stand beside him, closer to the egg. Warily, Younghyun steps forwards to stand by his side.

“I thought you said she was the last one,” he says softly, staring in wonderment despite his lingering fear. He knows the story by heart by now- the way dragons had been hunted down and killed by the hundreds, thought to be dangerous and also prized for their fascinating horns and scales, until there were barely any left, how one person, long ago, became the first to form the mysterious bond between human and beast. 

“You couldn’t know,” the king responds, “these days, a dragon is far too valuable to be talked about so casually. I wish it were, and I wish we could put into place some measure to prevent their extinction, but there are too many people in the world who would  _ kill  _ to get their hands on this egg, and do terrible, terrible things with it.” 

“And you’re trusting  _ me  _ with it,” Younghyun responds flatly, “I don’t- I don’t know if that’s a good idea, father.” The king looks at him with a stern look on his face. “No, really, I’m not- what could  _ I  _ do with it- I’m not enough-”

“That’s what you  _ think, _ Younghyun,” his father says, and adds on, so quietly he can barely hear it, “though it’s not true. But no matter what you might think of yourself,” he continues on, “tomorrow you will accept the burden of leadership just as I did when I was young, and,” he gestures to the egg, “you will accept this egg- the very last one in existence- as your own as well. It’s not a choice, son,” he explains wearily, “and it never was.” Younghyun nods resignedly, knows that despite his own doubts, he’ll try his very hardest to make him proud. 

He tilts his head back up to look at the mighty dragon, at the way she still holds herself proudly even though he knows she must be aware that she’s the very last of her kind. He looks at his father’s hand, at the mark burned into it, and thinks about how he’ll have one to match in a few day’s time, if he’s lucky.

“And what if it rejects me?” He asks. He knows that a dragon, even a hatchling, is very particular- if it doesn’t want to bond with someone, if it doesn’t think they’re  _ worthy,  _ then it simply won’t. The king gives him one, long look, something unreadable twinkling in his eye.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, my son,” he says, “you will become king nonetheless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody:  
> papa kang: everything the light touches, younghyun, will be yours someday,, 
> 
> hjsgdhvfhvhvfr THE WAY I FORGOT TO TAG JACKSON AS A CHARACTER HAHA WHOOPS. yes this fic is going to be crammed with as many cameos as possible yes indeed. also yes this entire story is so unoriginal but like i am having the time of my LIFE ok !! the time of my life !! by day6 !! i wrote this shit almost a year ago and it is so fun to read through?? also do be patient the rest of the band comes in they just trickle in slowly ok we have to put yonk thru the wringer before he gets any friends if you catch my drift.   
> 
> 
> also random side note i listen to exclusively irish folk and rebel music while writing this fic. i don't know why it just gets my fantasy gears grinding but it does. the wolfe tones immediately get me cranking out this fic like nothing else on God. i can also vividly imagine some scenes playing out to certain celtic woman songs. like i don't know it just puts me in the mood?? 
> 
> BUT answer by ateez is the unofficial theme song to this fic. i invite you to imagine day6 wielding swords and some dragons and like fire in the background fighting sexy evil stray kids in a slow motion battle montage to that song. i dare you. this fic plays out like a movie in my brain and if i had the means to direct it i would lmao
> 
> k bye dhrfbhr thanks for reading


	3. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even have anything to say for this one.

Younghyun wakes even before the first staff member does on the morning of his coronation, the night still deep and dark outside, moonlight pooling softly on his bedroom floor. His nerves are shot, his heart thumping out of his chest, his hands quivering as though he’s had a nightmare that he can’t even remember. In the low light, he stares at his reflection in one of the towering windows. There are dark bags under his eyes, his hair’s a rumpled mess, and the soft, baggy shirt that he slept in is wrinkled; in a few hours, those bags will be covered, his hair combed meticulously into place, his comfortable clothes replaced with stiff, formal attire. 

The air is still, quiet, heavy with the weight of the silence of hundreds, and much too unbearable to Younghyun to handle; he pushes open the double doors leading out onto a small balcony, stepping out into the night. The sting of the cold wind, wilder and stronger up here in one of the towers, is enough to distract him from his uneasiness for just a moment. 

The sky is clear tonight, and he gazes up at the thousands of stars smattering the indigo sky, searching for something- maybe an answer to his one, constant, painful question:  _ why him?  _ Why was Younghyun, timid and indecisive by nature, who thinks far too much about far too many things, who’d rather learn a new song than practice his swordsmanship, who’d always been easily lost, easily distracted, easily discouraged, chosen to be king? Why was he, imperfect, flawed, and terribly unsure of himself- why was  _ he  _ born into this role, that he is positive he’ll never fit?

Even though he’s cold, he grips the cool stone railing of the balcony, the wind playing with his hair and brushing his cheeks, sending shivers through his body; he imagines his father’s dragon, her huge, leathery wings, the way they seem to carry her effortlessly through the sky, and he closes his eyes, trying to imagine himself flying, all sensation of weight gone from him, just  _ freedom.  _ Just for a moment, dropping all the worries, all the burdens, from his heart, and simply escaping.

He remains like that for a long time, knuckles white from how tight he’s gripping the railing, and when he opens his eyes at last, rays of soft sunlight have begun to pierce through the night. With an immense whoosh of air, Younghyun feels rather than sees the dragon herself depart from her roost, taking to the sky as the day breaks, as if summoned by Younghyun’s thoughts. He watches until she disappears, dipping low in the sky to follow the winding path of the river that snakes through the kingdom and into the surrounding forests, probably to find something to eat before she’s summoned back for the ceremony. She will stand with his father as he steps down from the throne, and will watch him as he’s crowned the new king- he’s not sure whether the thought comforts or intimidates him. 

A knock, three long beats in between two short ones, lets him know of Jackson’s presence- he’s long given up on most formalities, a result of knowing him for so much of his life. 

“Today’s the day, your highness,” he chirps, “ I see you’ve both risen, and- oh, certainly not shined. But you’re halfway there!” He gives him a cheeky thumbs up as he turns around. “But really, you don’t look too good. Did you sleep well?” Younghyun knows that he already knows the answer, so he doesn’t bother hiding it.

“No,” he rubs at his eyes tiredly, “just thinking, I guess.” Jackson rubs his shoulder sympathetically.

“You think too much,” he tells him, “you’ve got to be more like me- stupid and impulsive.” He shoots him a comforting grin.

“You’re not stupid, you idiot,” Younghyun shoves him with his shoulder, “but maybe, maybe a  _ little  _ impulsive. But that’s what makes you good at what you do.” As if to prove his point, he pokes at the captain’s badge on his chest, and the many other decorations surrounding it, at the  _ Wang  _ embroidered in golden thread underneath a dragon and a fox curled around a vibrant sun. 

“Then maybe you don’t think too much,” Jackson says earnestly, “maybe in order to be king, you  _ have  _ to think a lot.” Younghyun scoffs.

“Yeah, right.” 

“Fine,” Jackson rolls his eyes, “don’t believe me, then.” And even though he tries, as he’s dragged off to his inevitable fate, he can’t really bring himself to believe it.

As much as he tries to convince himself, as much as he tries to dampen the butterflies in his stomach and the cloudy panic in his mind, as much as he  _ wants  _ to be the leader his father, Jackson, and the entire  _ kingdom  _ expect him to be-

He can’t help but think that Kang Younghyun isn’t, and never will be, a  _ real _ king.

* * *

From behind the closed doors, Younghyun can’t see the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people flowing into the castle’s main hall; the room is incredibly large, large enough to house that many people, and with a ceiling open enough to allow for something as big as a dragon to come in and out as it pleases. Huge, stone pillars support a ceiling so high Younghyun can barely make it out, and giant, shimmering golden banners sporting the crest of Ethermore, and his family- the dragon and fox, peaceful and intricately designed as always- hang from the walls. 

Jackson has left him already, gone to stand on the other side of these doors with his men for their part of the ceremony, and his mother and father aren’t entering the chamber with him. And so, wearing a velvety, deep red jacket over a stiffly buttoned shirt, his hair carefully combed and arranged, a traditional sort of sword sheathed at his belt, and perhaps looking the most like royalty he ever will, Younghyun waits, alone, in the corridor just outside the hall. 

The low, indistinguishable murmur of the crowd waiting for his appearance, talking about whether they think Younghyun will succeed the throne well or not, wishing him well or perhaps even doubting him, makes him even more anxious as he shuffles his feet and plays with his sleeves.

It’s odd, now that the very moment itself has finally descended upon him, caught up to him at last- he doesn’t feel quite as nervous anymore, as sick to his stomach. Maybe he’s been forced to finally accept his fate, accept that even though he may fail, he’ll still give his best attempt.

The first trumpet sounds, followed by the booming voice of the announcer echoing throughout the room, declaring the entrance of his mother and father, the departing king and queen. Rather than hear it, he feels the tremor run through the floors of the castle as the mighty dragon alights on the ground, bringing a wave of sudden silence with it, the crowd awed by her presence alone.

He waits a beat, biting his lip, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead-

The second trumpet sounds-

“ _ Prince Kang Younghyun of Ethermore _ -”

The roar of the crowd-

‘ _ It’s not a choice-’ _

_ ‘You think too much-’ _

_ ‘-and it never was-’ _

The doors swing open, slowly, tauntingly-

And then Younghyun is walking, into the bright sunlight cast down by the open ceiling, through the massive, writhing crowd, down the aisle set up just for him and up onto the makeshift stage, as if he’s on display, as if he’s being shown off to the people,  _ his  _ people. Years of being prince have taught him enough, enough to keep his eyes forward and his shoulders back and his chin up, enough to know that  _ looking  _ like you’re powerful doesn’t mean you really are at all- that being prince, being  _ king,  _ really is just being shown off like some prize _. _

He takes his place at center stage, in between his parents on his left, the dragon towering over the crowd, and Jackson and some of his men on his right, standing tall, stoic, the way the captain of the royal guard should. Younghyun recognizes a few of the others that stand by his side, his hand-picked generals and lieutenants, that he’s met more than once; he makes eye contact with his best friend for a fleeting second, enough for the captain's cool facade to melt away for just an instant, enough for his eyes to convey to him  _ you can do this. _

Younghyun still doesn’t think he can.

His heart is racing, his mind blank, as he stares out at the crowd, at their expressions as they stare up at him with reverence, reverence he doesn’t  _ deserve.  _ They fall silent again as the announcer steps forward, a thick book in his hands- he’s a slight-looking man, dark hair streaked with grey, round glasses perched precariously on his nose. 

He doesn’t remember any of the speech that follows his entrance, only comes out of his terrified trance when the announcer turns to the royal guard, their uniforms matching in patterns of gold and black as they stand in formation.

“Will Captain Wang please step forward?” Jackson nods curtly, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and does as he’s told. The announcer clears his throat, holding up a hand until a thick silence falls over the entire room. “Jackson Wang, do you swear upon your life and honor, as captain of the Royal Guard of Ethermore, to protect the new king, no matter the cost?” Jackson nods affirmatively and without hesitation, and Younghyun knows that he  _ would.  _

And that scares him. 

“Until my last breath, sir.” His voice is steady, firm, hands still clasped tightly behind his back; his eyes flicker up to Younghyun’s, and it anchors him, distracts him somewhat from the thousands of people standing before him. 

His gaze is then drawn to a pedestal, upon which two things are displayed for himself, and for the entire kingdom: the crown, finally removed from his father’s head after so many years, and another object, covered by a shimmering, golden cloth. Younghyun can only assume it’s the egg, and he can only imagine the sort of chaos its reveal is going to cause; he swallows around the fear threatening to close his throat, instead putting on his bravest face as the announcer reaches for the crown. 

He clears his throat again, the sound echoing around the dead silent chamber; everybody is quiet, waiting anxiously for the very thing Younghyun dreads to happen. As the crown is handed off to his father, who holds it high up above his head, as if presenting it to the crowd, it glints brightly in the sunlight; the rubies adorning it cast a red glow on the king’s face as he turns to face his son. 

He can feel the piercing gaze of the dragon drilling through him as he does what he’s rehearsed, kneeling before the crown, submitting himself to his fate. At the same time, the dragon swishes her tail ever so gently, just enough to knock the egg free of its thin, golden veil. 

Shock ripples through the crowd, electrifying the room, and Younghyun squeezes his eyes closed as he waits for the words to be spoken; they echo in his mind, clattering around and mingling with his doubtful, panicked thoughts. 

“ _ Kang Younghyun, I, as the current king of Ethermore, pass down this crown and the burden of all leadership and responsibly borne with it”- _

The king’s words are cut off by a strangled noise, something like pain bubbling up from the great ruler’s throat. Younghyun’s eyes fly open, just quick enough to watch, enamored, frozen with horror, as his father’s face turns ghostly pale. 

His fingers tremble, their grip slowly loosening on the crown, until it falls from his hands, clattering loudly on the stone floor. Eyes widening, face contorting in agony, and a blossom of red, red,  _ red  _ blooming on his chest. 

A high,  _ horrible  _ sound pierces the air, sending vibrations through Younghyun’s chest, and though it feels as if his bones have been liquified, his limbs cemented into place, he manages to turn his head just enough to see the dragon, her head thrown back in pain.

Glinting mockingly in the bright sunlight of midday- the sun having just finally climbed its highest- is a long blade, protruding from her chest, nearly buried to its hilt; she keens, wings snapping open, tail thrashing wildly as red runs in rivulets through the mosaic of emerald scales decorating her neck.

Younghyun barely hears the thump of his father’s body on the floor, or the terrified screeches of the people in the crowd-

-only ringing in his ears, everything else muffled, his eyes darting around frantically, still kneeling, as if turned to stone, on the ground- 

And then a strong hand is on his arm, yanking him up from the ground, making his head spin, and then there’s Jackson standing in front of him, nothing but urgency in his eyes and voice as he tugs him away, away from the noise and the chaos and the  _ blood.  _

“We’ve got to  _ move, _ ” he says, pulling Younghyun along despite his struggling, “ _ Choi! Park!  _ Handle this,” he barks, gesturing violently to the writhing, panicked crowd, at the hooded figures dressed in black dropping down from the ceiling. “Tuan, Kim, Im, I want you with me,” he beckons to them, dragging Younghyun by the arm into a door that leads out the back. 

Younghyun’s head is still spinning, his vision stained red with the pool of blood on his father’s chest, and he tries, tries to be something like a hero and fight  _ back,  _ fight for his father and his kingdom, but Jackson’s grip is too strong. 

The last thing he sees before the door closes behind him is a single man, standing in the very doorway that he entered the chamber through not even an hour ago, sunlight making his blond hair glow like white flames atop his head. 

And then it slams shut with a loud clang and he’s  _ running _ , flanked on all sides by Jackson’s handpicked guards, probably his best men. 

“Out the northeast wing,” Jackson pants, eyes set determinedly forwards as he races down the empty, dark halls with Younghyun in tow. 

“Jackson, I can’t  _ leave, _ ” Younghyun protests, struggling in vain, “I can’t, I  _ can’t,  _ I’m-”

“You’re  _ dead  _ if you stay here,” Jackson says stonily, “you can  _ leave  _ because I’m telling you to, because it’s the only way you’re staying alive, and I- you’re  _ not  _ dying tonight, if I can help it!” 

“But the kingdom-”

“The kingdom won’t be any good with a dead pri- a dead  _ king. _ ” They round a corner, barreling out through a set of doors and into the warm air outside. 

“But what about  _ you?  _ What about-”

“Don’t you  _ get it,  _ Younghyun? I just swore on my  _ life  _ to protect you, and I meant  _ every word.  _ So mount up,” Jackson pants desperately, “and  _ run. _ ” 

And so they do. 

The pounding of five horse’s hooves on the ground, rhythmic in some strange way, is enough to dull the throbbing in Younghyun’s head, in his  _ heart,  _ for long enough to keep going- to push the images of his father’s blood dripping onto the floor out of the forefront of his mind for the sake of survival. 

They ride in complete silence, at a full gallop, the sun beating down upon them and making them sweat; Younghyun becomes numb eventually, numb to the burn in his legs and the deeper, harsher burn in his chest, to the feeling of guilt and regret and everything dark and horrified and  _ miserable  _ compressed inside of him, threatening to blow into a massive storm. 

Younghyun was a boy who didn’t want to be king, didn’t want the power and responsibility- but he’d still take that over- over  _ this.  _

He flinches when one of the guards breaks off from their formation and moves up to Jackson’s side, leaning over to tell him something that Younghyun can’t hear, but the grim look on his face sends a violent plummeting feeling through his stomach anyways. 

But nothing seems to happen, and when Younghyun glances behind him hours later, the castle is tiny, toy-sized, silhouetted by the slowly setting sun. He resists the urge to vomit when he thinks of all the things that happened there only a few hours ago. 

He’s noticed that they’re keeping to smaller roads, winding through woods and fields instead of passing through towns- trying not to be seen, trying not to be  _ killed.  _

Their silent, morose procession rides into the cover of a particularly thickly wooded path, great oaks and evergreens grown so closely together that their canopies have knit together to form a barrier between the sun and the forest floor far below. 

It happens so quickly Younghyun barely processes it. 

One moment, the guard is on his horse. 

The next, he isn’t. 

He hears the twang of a bowstring and the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground, and then there’s one less soldier in their little party. 

He chokes back a scream. 

His mount, rider picked off with terrifying precision, rears in distress and splits off, cantering wildly off into the dark forests they’re passing through. 

He hears Jackson take in a focused, strained breath.

_ They’ve found us, _ it tells him,  _ we tried to run but they found us anyways _ . 

Younghyun doesn’t even know who  _ they  _ are. 

“ _ Keep moving, _ ” he hisses. Younghyun hates that every one of the men riding with him right now would die in a heartbeat for him. 

What has he ever done for them? 

His fingers are shaking, his heart pounding, his hands barely clasping the reins, his feet threatening to slide out of the stirrups. 

It happens again, just a few minutes later. 

The second guard’s warning shout is cut off by a choking sound, and this time Younghyun  _ sees  _ the arrow bury itself in his back, fletching feathers glinting black in the low light, before he falls down. 

_ Dead.  _

How many people will Younghyun’s existence kill today? 

The remaining spur their horses into full gallops, walled in by thick trees on either side, having no choice but to move forwards and  _ hope.  _

They ride single file because they have no  _ choice;  _ Jackson in the lead, shoulders set, hunched as he urges his horse faster and faster with a determination that Younghyun fears, The last guard tailing Younghyun closely behind, and the echoes of their hoofbeats and the heavy weight of the newly shed blood of loyal soldiers, loyal  _ friends,  _ weighing on their hearts. 

There’s a rustling in the branches far above them, and Younghyun has barely enough time to see the shadow leaping through the branches, barely enough time to hear Jackson order them to  _ duck,  _ before it launches itself from the branches and takes the very last guard to the ground with it. 

Younghyun hears the struggle, knows it’s in vain. 

He sort of wishes he’s the one that got shot instead. 

And then it’s just Jackson, stupid and loyal and strong and so,  _ so  _ reckless when it comes to protecting him, and Younghyun almost sees it before it happens. 

They’re racing side by side, the path narrow, the trees arching over them and barring them in with shadows and darkness, and maybe the woods are starting to thin out but  _ maybe _ that’s Younghyun going delusional from the grief and the terror. 

There’s nothing he could have done. 

Nothing he could have done, as he sees the arrow spiral wildly from somewhere in the brush, it’s metal point glinting in the sunlight filtering through the leaves and headed straight for his heart, and he thinks about the rose blossom of blood seeping through his father’s shirt. He doesn’t try to dodge it; in his numbness, he welcomes it.

Maybe, after this, they’ll match, father and son, king and prince.

But it’s never that easy. 

So there’s nothing he could have done to stop Jackson, his closest friend, from making a leap out of his saddle, knocking Younghyun from atop his horse and sending him to the ground just as the arrow reaches its mark. 

But it pierces the wrong chest, the wrong heart, spills the  _ wrong blood,  _ and all Younghyun sees is Jackson on the forest floor and feels the sudden, crushing silence fall around them like some suffocating blanket. 

Everything stops, all at once. The hoofbeats cease as Jackson’s horse rears and wheels around in panic, shooting off into the trees until it can’t be seen or heard anymore; Younghyun reins his own horse to a stop, throwing himself to the ground, knees buckling as his boots hit the dirt. 

The trees suddenly seem a lot taller, their shadows darker, and Younghyun feels tiny, desperate,  _ helpless.  _

“No,” he murmurs, his heart frozen, “no,  _ no, _ ” he falls to his knees, hands hovering over Jackson’s stuttering, twitching chest, not sure of what he’s seeing is truly real. 

But, of course it is. 

“H-hey,” a hand comes up to weakly clasp his sleeve, and Younghyun doesn’t want to look at Jackson anymore because he’s  _ terrified  _ of what he sees but he finds his eyes, and they’re still the same as they’ve always been, and he doesn’t look at the bloodstain on his chest or the broken shaft of the arrow still pinned there. His voice is barely a whisper, constricted,  _ pained,  _ and it hurts to hear but he listens anyways. “You have to, you have to  _ go.”  _

Younghyun hates how even when he’s _dying,_ Jackson still cares more about him. Hates the way he’s dying _because_ of him _._

“Why’d you do that?” He asks softly, squeezing his eyes shut but holding the hand holding his sleeve too, “could’ve been me- why didn’t you let it be  _ me?”  _ His voice breaks.

“Couldn’t’ve,” Jackson laughs weakly, “I told, I told you already- I’ll a-always be your backup, remember?” 

There’s a rustle in the brush; Jackson’s head shoots up in an attempt to see where the noise came from, but he only falls back to the ground, coughing and wheezing. His hand grips Younghyun’s harder. 

“You have to go,” he says with as much urgency as he can, “you have to go  _ now.”  _ He shoves something into the palm of Younghyun’s hand, his eyes desperate, but Younghyun can see them clouding over even now. 

“But-”

“ _ No buts! _ ” Jackson snaps with a surprising amount of force, “ _ please, _ ” he breathes out sharply, “listen to me for  _ once. _ ” The pain he feels with every spoken word is almost tangible. “Keep yourself alive. I-if not for you, then for, for me, okay?” Younghyun blinks away the tears that prick at his eyes, and even though it feels like an arrow to his own heart, he nods, knowing innately that he doesn’t have much time before he’s good as dead too. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to it at all; a single tear escapes, landing like a dewdrop on the ground. 

“I know.” Jackson’s hand falls limply to his side, “now g-go. I’ll be, I’ll be fine.” 

_ No you won’t.  _

He knows that if he stays any longer, he won’t be able to leave. 

“ _ I’m sorry, _ ” he chokes out, blurry vision taking in Jackson’s crumpled, bloody form one last time. He nearly slips trying to mount his horse, hands grasping blindly for the reins, wishing everything would stop hurting so much. 

It sort of feels like he got stabbed anyways, when he leaves Jackson behind. 

By some twisted miracle, he makes it out of the woods alive, though barely even conscious; his mind seems to have shut down, his body only going through the motions of riding through muscle memory and instinct. Thinking only means thinking about his parents, about Jackson, about blood and death and  _ so much pain.  _ A nd all that pain, for him. 

He wishes somebody would just shoot him down already, let him join those guards dead on the ground. 

But nobody does. 

He doesn’t know how far he travels, but the sun sets and the moon rises and suddenly it’s nighttime and he’s so,  _ so  _ tired. 

When he finally stops, in the middle of an abandoned road far out in the countryside, the castle is a mere speck on the horizon, miles away. 

Maybe he’ll never go back there. 

Cowards aren’t meant to be kings, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so sad alexa play bullet to the heart 
> 
> rereading this months after writing it still gets me a little emotional and maybe that's me being egotistical because this could be way better written but like,, oh well,, i am pretty proud of it. and anyways, now's when the adventure begins baby, what better way to start it off than killing everybody younghyun loves am i right. i think yes. i did proofread before i published this time but i probably missed something idk. anywys uh sorry i guess :")


	4. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hhgggg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot woot woot i am so tired take this

The moon is at its highest, the night startlingly clear; the stars blink cheerfully down on Younghyun, starkly contrasting the way his shoulders droop and his limbs can barely move atop his ragged, out of breath horse. He pats the animal’s neck softly, fingers running through dappled grey fur- somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that maybe, he should give it a name sometime. 

It seems to be his only companion, after all. 

He’s slowed it to a walk now, fully aware of the way the animal’s chest is heaving, nostrils flaring. He knows enough about horses to know that the thing’s far too overworked to go on much longer. With a nudge to its side, he steers off the path and into a small cluster of trees, hoping to find a stream where both he and his exhausted mount can drink. 

He’s far past even the smallest villages skirting the outer rims of the kingdom, now pressing further and further into the northern wilderness. With a dull pang in his chest, he remembers looking out on this land from his vantage point high up in the castle- it looked so much different from there, so much more inviting and warm. Now it is dark, cold, unforgiving. 

His only defense is the sword still strapped around his waist, the only memento left from yesterday; he doesn’t know if it will be much use against whatever creatures live out here, in the untamed parts of the kingdom. 

He knows that the further he travels north, the more thickly wooded his path will become, scattered clusters of trees merging into the massive forest that leads up into the mountains. He doesn’t really know what danger lies there, but right now he doesn’t really care, either. 

He dismounts, leading the tired animal by the reins instead, when he hears the soft trickle of running water. His legs nearly buckle when they hit the ground. Beneath the trees, the light of the stars and moon are muted, leaving everything bathed in irregular, dappled light. Despite his exhaustion, despite his pain, he keeps alert; every shadow looks like a sinister figure, every breeze sounds like a whisper. 

The night is oddly quiet, and if he were in his right state of mind, he might have noticed earlier; even at midnight, something is always alive, making noise and making itself known. It seems that even the crickets have ceased their chirping, even stranger on a clear summer’s night like this.

Still, he is too tired to notice, and drops to his knees to drink from the stream. Beside him, his weary horse does the same, dipping its nose into the cool water. Though his chest is almost unbearably tight, his legs rubber from the hard riding, he knows he has to keep moving. It took an immense effort to tear himself away from the castle, from. . . from Jackson, too, but now that he’s started running he doesn’t want to stop. 

His horse lifts its head suddenly, ears high atop its head, giving a loud snort- alert, awake, but for what? 

Younghyun places a hand on the hilt of his sword. 

It’s too quiet. 

Faster than Younghyun’s foggy mind can comprehend, something springs out of the bushes. 

In a flurry of flapping fabric and clanging metal, Younghyun hits the ground and rolls, sending a sharp twinge through his shoulder, sweeping his attacker beneath him in the process. They tumble across the dirt of the road for one, heart-stopping moment, with the stranger trying to use their obviously more flexible, nimble figure to get the upper hand and Younghyun trying to pin them down under his greater size and weight, years of sparring and combat training kicking into action by memory rather than thought.

Stone shards and gravel rip through the fabric covering his knees as he scrabbles for footing, clawing desperately at the sword at his waist in an attempt to pull it from its sheath. 

He’s relying almost entirely on sound and feel, the night too dark and overcast to shed any decent light at all, his breathing still short and labored from the harrowing ride out here; he feels something whip by dangerously close to his cheek, turning his head just in time to miss the point of the needle-sharp dagger. 

Younghyun, feeling cool grass below him instead of the rough road, throws all of his weight down onto the shadowed attacker, chest heaving, and pins them beneath him at the same time he manages to pull his sword from its sheath. 

So much has happened to him tonight,  _ too much;  _ every muscle is quivering and his heart is nearly giving out and blood is rushing in his ears and even though it’s irrational he thinks in this moment that the world deserves to  _ die  _ for what it’s taken from him, so he thrusts the tip of his sword close to the stranger’s throat and holds it there, just enough to draw blood, just enough to get  _ some  _ relief, some  _ satisfaction.  _

The attacker has stopped squirming, stopped trying to escape, and Younghyun can barely see their face from underneath the hood still shading it. 

Younghyun knows he could do it if he wanted- he could slit this throat with the blade in his hand, bared pale white in the moonlight, and stain it dark red instead. He can  _ see  _ the life pumping through bluish veins, quickened with adrenaline, with fear, fear of  _ him,  _ knows he could cut it off, stop it with the flick of his wrist. 

For some reason, he doesn’t. Despite his anger, his grief, the hollowness gaping in his chest, he can’t. 

The breath is knocked from his lungs as legs kick out underneath him, toppling him over and onto his back with a hard thud; pain splits his chest as a knee presses into his breastbone, pinning him securely to the ground. 

The blade of the dagger isn’t quite touching his throat, but rather hovering in the air by his chin, as though hesitant to harm him.

“ _ Please _ don’t make me hurt you,” the attacker snarls, their voice distinctly male, “I don’t really like getting all bloody and shit.” Younghyun is silent, unsure of what to say, of how to escape now. 

“Then g-get  _ off, _ ” he wheezes, suffocating underneath the weight of the stranger. 

“And why  _ should  _ I?” The stranger leans forward, putting even  _ more  _ weight on Younghyun’s chest; a tuft of blond hair poking out from beneath his hood catches in the moonlight, but his face is still concealed. He senses the dagger shift a little closer to his throat. 

Younghyun still knows that if he really needs to, he can overpower him- he can tell he’s slighter of build, lighter. But for now, with some effort, he puts his hands up by his head on the ground, away from his weapons. 

The attacker hesitates for a moment, as if gauging whether Younghyun is trustworthy enough, before nimbly rolling off of him and onto his feet. 

Younghyun stands slowly, brushing the dirt from his hands, wincing when the shoulder he landed on earlier flares up in burning pain. 

He blinks as bright moonlight shines in his eyes, maybe a little disoriented from the fight; he wonders why such a terrible night could be so clear, so mockingly  _ beautiful.  _

The hooded stranger seems to have stiffened beneath his cloak, his dagger gone from his hands; even though he can’t see his face, Younghyun can sense his eyes boring into his own. 

Younghyun’s fingers hover over his sword again, should he think of attacking him again. 

“What’s a thing like you doing all the way out here?” He asks warily; Younghyun watches him closely, adrenaline still sharpening his senses. He thinks quicker than he thought possible, coming up with a lie- he can’t tell the  _ truth,  _ after all. Somebody from an area as rural as this might not know what the prince looks like, but he’ll know his name. 

“Carrying a message,” he responds quickly, “up to the mining colonies in the mountains.” He's surprised by how easily the lie slips from his mouth; it’s plausible, and secretly he thanks those boring geography lessons he sat through when he was younger. The other man seems to look him up and down, maybe sizing him up. 

“Bit fancily dressed for a messenger,” he points out, sounding almost  _ bored _ , “real nice horse you have there, too.” He takes a few steps towards Younghyun’s briefly forgotten mount, who, surprisingly, hadn’t spooked when he’d been attacked. 

“It pays well,” Younghyun says carefully, “it’s a long trip.” The man, still hooded, is still looking over the packs hanging from his saddle, probably gauging if he has anything valuable stored away. Younghyun observes him closely, but his body language tells him that he’s barely even hostile anymore, almost  _ casual.  _

Without turning around, he continues, “interesting choice of weaponry too. Haven’t seen anybody use a sword like that besides the imperial army. Where would a simple  _ messenger boy  _ get his hands on one of those?” The hooded stranger taps his chin, almost  _ mockingly,  _ daring Younghyun to come up with an excuse. 

“I found it,” he says, forcing any waver from his voice, “and I’ll run you through with it if you don’t stop  _ talking.  _ At  _ least  _ show your face,” he growls. The stranger puts his hands up, though he doesn’t really look scared at all. 

“Ooh,  _ scary  _ messenger boy,” he says mockingly, but obliges anyway. Off comes his hood in one swift motion, moonlight flooding through the branches enough to illuminate the stranger’s face; the first thing Younghyun notices is how  _ young  _ he is. He expected somebody older, rough and scarred, the sort of person you’d expect to try and attack you in the middle of the night. 

But he isn’t much older than him, with pale skin and intelligent, calculating eyes; his face is framed by dark hair streaked with blonde that sweeps over his forehead, nearly covering one eye. 

“Satisfied?” He asks, raising a skeptic eyebrow. 

“As long as you promise to leave me and my things alone,” Younghyun says. The energy he gained from the initial fight is wearing off already, and he’s starting to feel the effects of his long journey return to him. 

“As long as you leave my forest and never come back,” the stranger quips back. Younghyun backs away, not daring to take his eyes off of him; but it’s almost as if he blinks, and suddenly he’s gone, disappeared back into the brush. 

Younghyun gives his horse a hearty pat on the neck before mounting again, as a sort of silent apology for working it so hard. He hopes he can find somewhere to rest soon, but now he  _ has  _ to leave. He doesn’t trust that man to stay away for long. 

So he starts on the road again, at first at a relatively brisk walk. The moon is starting to fall from the sky, beginning it’s slow descent towards the horizon. 

This second time, he sees it coming. 

The dark shape launches out of a tree branch this time, hoping to knock him from his horse, but he hears the rustle and stands in his stirrups just enough to catch him as he falls, wrenching a muscle in his shoulder as he manages to change the stranger’s trajectory midair; they fall to the ground, this time Younghyun’s force enough to pin him with a  _ very  _ loud thump. 

In a split second, Younghyun has his sword in hand again, this time with the blade pressing lightly into the stranger’s throat. 

“You’re,” the other man wheezes, “you’re not a messenger boy, are you?” He doesn’t even struggle this time- from the height of his fall and the force of his landing, Younghyun would be surprised if he didn’t have a few broken bones. 

“ _ Nope _ ,” he hisses, pressing his blade down a little harder; he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from collapsing on the spot. 

“Tell me, then.” the stranger  _ grins  _ as if he’s not close to death right now, as if he’s just having a normal conversation; Younghyun wonders if he might be a little insane, or maybe just concussed. “King’s assassin? Royal guard? Somebody high up sent you out here to clean the kingdom of scum like me?” There really isn’t any point in lying anymore; besides, Younghyun half wants to see his reaction. 

“The prince,  _ actually _ .” He says it as threateningly as possible. The stranger stares at him for a moment, and then  _ laughs.  _

“You’re kidding me, right? The  _ prince,  _ okay, and I’m the goddamn  _ duke _ . I’d bow, but I’m a bit stuck at the moment.” His dark eyes sparkle with humor. When Younghyun doesn’t reply, and the cool iron of his blade stays pressed up against his throat, the stranger switches tactics. “Look,” he says, “you and I both know you can overpower me whenever you want, and prince or not, you’re obviously  _ somebody  _ important. So let’s make a deal, yeah? An ultimatum, if you will.” Younghyun scrutinizes him for a moment- he knows he’s just a common man when it comes down to it, one of the lawless, annoying bandits that roam these parts. He probably just pillages cargo carriages and traveling caravans, stealing and thieving, but never killing. Younghyun’s heard about his type, and  _ exactly _ how clever they tend to be. 

“Let’s start with you getting off of me, hm?” The stranger says. Younghyun keeps him firmly pinned, completely distrustful after his first encounter. 

“What’s your deal?” He presses on, jabbing his sword a little harder against his neck just to emphasize his point. For a moment, real fear flickers in the man’s eyes. 

“I know these woods like the back of my own hand,” he says quickly, “and if you promise to leave me unharmed, I’ll take you to the closest village, find you a nice, cozy inn- lord knows you could use a wash, and some new clothes. No offense, but even  _ I  _ can tell you’re in no state to travel another mile.” 

If only he knew. 

“And in return, you  _ don’t  _ tip off your fancy royal friends about my existence in general,  _ or  _ try to harm me in any way, shape, or form, and I remain a happy, free man.” He looks expectantly at Younghyun. 

After a moment, Younghyun relents, sheathing his sword and standing up; the stranger leaps quickly to his feet. 

“Do we have a deal?” He offers a hand. Younghyun hesitates. He still doesn’t fully trust this man to keep his word, but he’s the best chance he has at this point. As much as he’d like to stay independent, he doesn’t really know how much longer he can survive without a proper rest, food, and supplies. 

He takes the stranger’s hand; the man grins at him, and Younghyun absently notices that he’s just a little taller than him. 

“Good choice,” he chirps, shaking it once, his grip strong. 

“What’s your name?” Younghyun asks offhandedly. When he responds, there’s a, now somewhat familiar, humorous twinkle in his eye. 

“Names are powerful things, my friend,” he says cryptically, “but for now, you can call me Jae.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m literally in history class rn watching some documentary about dust storms, oopsies. I apologize for not updating anything else I have been so swamped in schoolwork for the past week I haven’t slept well for ages hgggdhfbrnnt but at least there is this right?? in other news I’ve been getting into nct and because I have the attention span of a peanut ive decided to write 1000 nct fics which will never see the light of day. so i am doing great. 
> 
> anyways if you celebrate it have a good thanksgiving, take care of yourselves, be safe, n remember you are great and fantastic and deserve the world <3


	5. Amber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am just a little late on this one sorry

Jae turns out to be a whole lot more talkative than Younghyun initially anticipated. He’s aware that he’s completely untrustworthy, but Younghyun can’t bear the silence anymore. So he humors him; it seems like it’s been a while since he’s had some company, anyways.

“So who  _ are  _ you, exactly?” He asks, tossing question after question at him as he leads Younghyun through the woods. The thief picks his way nimbly through the brush, cloak flapping gently behind him. He’s much more graceful than Younghyun, who’s unaccustomed to the terrain, leading his tired horse behind him. He seems to have no problem with the darkness of the forest, nor the possibility of the things lurking within, and almost seems as much a part of it as a deer or a sparrow, the deep green of his cloak matching the shades of the leaves. 

“I already told you,” he says shortly, energy spent from trekking across the forest floor. He’d made it clear to Jae that he’d rather not take the roads, though he didn’t tell him why. He laughs at his response, a sharp sound that startles a pair of roosting warblers out of the branches. The moonlight leaves silver droplets on their feathers as they spiral upwards in a flurry of rapid wingbeats, until they disappear into the canopy and out of sight. Younghyun watches them go, wishes that he could just fly away too.

“You  _ can’t  _ expect me to believe that,” he says, amusement clear in his tone, “it’s just not plausible, buddy. We’re a couple hundred miles out from the capital, and I’ve never even  _ heard  _ of his  _ royal highness  _ going any farther than Ceol, anyways. I don’t know why you’re trying to fool me.” Younghyun sighs in resignation- it doesn’t matter, anyways. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know.

The weight of reality is so  _ heavy,  _ settling in his chest like a boulder, almost enough to stop him from breathing. It takes all of his energy just to keep the sorrow, the  _ pain,  _ locked inside and not spilling out like blood all over the dewy grass. 

“I know you want to be low profile or whatever, but we’re going to have to cross a main road in a few hundred feet.” Jae slows so that he’s walking side by side with Younghyun. “You’re okay with that, right?” 

“How heavily traveled?”

“At night? Not too bad.” Younghyun breathes in deep, feeling the cool, fresh air enter his lungs and calm him just enough to formulate a response; the prospect of traveling another road in the dark, even just for a split second,  _ immediately  _ takes him back to those woods a few hours of hard riding away, still littered with the bodies of the men that died for his safety- men that had no  _ real  _ reason to die.

The brush thins out, and Jae leads him up to the edge of a beaten, dusty path, a pale strip of humanity slashing through the otherwise wild, untamed forest. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, Jae crouches down behind a bush, signaling for him to do the same.

“It’s best to wait,” he explains in a hushed whisper, “sometimes patrols come by if you’re not careful.” Younghyun’s breath catches in his throat. Jae’s hand stays on Younghyun’s shoulder, his touch light, barely there, but enough to hold him back, telling him to wait until he signals. Younghyun knows he’s putting far too much trust into a stranger, but really, what does he have to lose?

Jae’s eyes squint, his head tilted as he apparently gauges their surroundings, searching for evidence of a threat; when he doesn’t find one, he taps Younghyun on the shoulder again before slipping silently out of the bushes and out onto the bare, moonlit road.  _ Follow me _ . 

Giving a gentle tug on the reins to pull his horse along, the metal bit clinking softly, he follows, wincing when hoofbeats stir up noise and dust in his wake. Jae freezes, glaring at him; his face is once again shadowed by his hood, but Younghyun can feel his piercing stare nonetheless. The thief beckons urgently to him, waving him across to the other side. Younghyun is painfully aware of his clothes, vibrant and out of place despite being covered in dirt, of his gleaming white horse trodding along dutifully behind him. It seems to take hours, just to cross that one, open road.

At first, he thinks it’s thunder.

He knows thunderstorms are common in this area of the kingdom, as that’s what allows the forests to grow so thickly and rapidly; so he pays the noise no mind. 

When, just about at the end of the whole ordeal, his horse plants its feet and refuses to move, attention drawn solely to the road stretching south, he hears it more clearly-

Hoofbeats.

He panics, fearful and dizzy, thousands of images of  _ dead  _ kings and  _ dead  _ dragons and  _ dead  _ guards flashing behind his eyes. 

“What the  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing-” Jae snarls, leaping back from the edge of the road to snatch up the reins and tug the animal along himself, grabbing Younghyun by the sleeve and attempting to drag him into cover.

The hoofbeats draw closer, louder. 

“-gonna get me  _ killed-” _

He can’t move. 

And maybe a thousand things run through his mind at once, maybe he considers flagging down the ghostly rider just over the horizon, maybe he thinks that all’s not  _ really  _ lost and he can run again, run back home and pretend that nothing ever happened, maybe nothing ever  _ did  _ happen, maybe all he wants to do is collapse under the pain and the pressure and just  _ die,  _ so really why does it matter? What’s  _ Jae  _ going to do to stop him from- from doing  _ something? _ Something other than standing idle, than hiding, than pretending he’s not just the empty shell of a  _ coward  _ who doesn’t have anything left to live for because it all burned  _ for  _ him? 

Maybe he’s lost his mind, but something about it sates just a little bit of the desperate, gnawing grief in his chest. 

Somehow he wrenches his arm out of Jae’s grip, and somehow he’s standing in the middle of the path, bathed in moonlight, feeling the rumble of the earth beneath his feet as hoofbeats seem to come so close they’ll trample him. 

The worst part, thinking back on it, is that he knows the face of every rider that skids to a halt at the sight of him- every rider except one. 

There are three, sitting atop identical, inky black mounts; with a sort of stabbing pain to his heart, he recognizes Jaebeom and Jinyoung, Jackson’s second in command and closest affiliates- and closest friends, next to Younghyun. Though they wear dark clothing to match the night, and masks cover half their faces, he knows their eyes all the same, and it seems that their eyes know him too. 

The third is unrecognizable, small and lithe in figure, though he stands out for one reason- his eyes are bright amber, glowing softly in the darkness. 

“Hello,  _ prince _ .” The nameless man says, his voice startlingly deep, “you’re the last thing I thought I’d see out here- don’t you know the whole kingdom thinks you’re dead?”

He can barely shake his head; the man with the strange eyes tilts his head invitingly at him, but the expressions of the other two soldiers are stark in contrast. Something about their stiffness, their silence, is screaming. They don’t want to be here. 

“All alone, too,” he continues, his voice gravelly, thick with some foreign accent, “don’t you know what happens to little princes like you who run about all  _ alone  _ in the woods?” Younghyun vaguely realizes that Jae has disappeared, along with his horse; he wonders if he ever existed at all. “Come with me, won’t you? We’ve been worried sick- your people are grieving for a prince they think they’ve lost- don’t you want to give them back their hope?” The amber eyes stare into his.

Something feels very, very wrong. The night is silent, as if every living thing fled as soon as these soldiers arrived. 

The part of him that hates himself, the part that wants redemption for the coward he’s been, wants to say yes. He wants to prove to himself most of all, to prove to everybody that died tonight, that he’s worth  _ something.  _ He almost agrees. 

The command comes out of nowhere, feels like a whip cracking in front of his face. 

“ _ Grab him.”  _

The look on Jaebeom’s face says  _ I’m sorry,  _ Jinyoung’s fearful, stiff obedience tells him  _ he’ll kill me if I don’t,  _ and even though he understands it still hurts, it still terrifies him. And as their gloved hands clasp his arms to drag him away he comes to, as if from a trance. And Jaebeom seems to notice, and turns his head ever so slightly towards his ear.

“ _ Fight back, _ ” he whispers, voice wavering horribly, “ _ we won’t stop you. I don’t care if you hurt me, just- get away, far away. _ ” 

The man with those unnatural, catlike eyes still stares down at them, unmoving and unsympathetic from atop his horse; everything about him sets Younghyun’s instincts on fire, he realizes, makes his blood boil and his mind screams  _ danger danger danger.  _

Before he can process the order, something like déjà-vu strikes- and all hell breaks loose. 

The ring of metal against metal splits the air and for just a moment, Younghyun sees a familiar green cloak flapping in the wind and streaks of blond glinting in the moonlight, and Jae locked in a furious struggle with the amber-eyed man; with a plummeting feeling in his stomach, borne from exhaustion and adrenaline and the confusion caused by the two mixed together, he knows it’s a hopeless fight. The outlaw’s short blade, though wielded surprisingly masterfully, will do next to nothing against his enemy’s long, wickedly curved and sharpened one. He doesn’t have time to wonder why he came back for him, decided to show himself, when he could just as easily have slipped away into the woods and left Younghyun to die.

A strange thing seems to overcome the guards holding Younghyun by his arms- in almost restricted fashion, they release him, drawing their swords with stiff movements and inhuman precision. When they meet his eye, he sees amber, glowing embers where their irises should be. 

It clicks all at once, unpleasantly but surely. 

A mage. 

He’s a mage. 

A strong one, the sort he’s only ever read of in books, nothing like the gentle witches that tend to the place gardens with their natural magic- no, this man is something much different, darker, drawing from a source far more sinister than the natural world. 

He’s toying with thoughts, taking hold of  _ minds-  _ Younghyun sees it in the suddenly blank stares of the guards once set on helping him stay free. They are under his power, held onto like marionettes on strings, and as unthinking as the cold iron of the weapons in their hands. 

He draws his sword slowly, eyeing them not like men anymore, but like animals; hungry, single minded, obedient to master, even though it  _ hurts.  _ The faint, fierce clash between Jae and the mage echoes in the back of his mind, quietly urging him into a state of mind where he realizes that he doesn’t want to die anymore. 

The night is silent but beautiful, clear and pure, the air blown down from the mountains filling his lungs with wild  _ life,  _ and the stars blaze down with their full fury without a care for what happens miles below them; and miles, miles below the stars, Younghyun fights.

Jaebeom and Jinyoung circle him like panthers, prowling in methodical half circles, darting and lunging in a defensive sort of pattern. Younghyun understands that they’re not  _ meant  _ to kill him- they’re being used ( _ used _ ) as a device to keep him distracted, keep him trapped and occupied while their master puppeteers them from behind.

Innately, he knows that he won’t die on this road- he’ll be taken back to the palace, his execution will be made a show of power, a sickly celebration of an empire fallen and giving rise to something dark and horrible.

But two royal guards turned mindless enemies are too much for Younghyun, broken and exhausted and a stitch away from breaking apart, and quickly he’s overwhelmed. 

A harsh knock to his already injured shoulder leaves his sword arm almost immobile, a slash to his leg makes him stumble, makes blood run red in the dry dust; vaguely, he wonders if Jae manages to get away safely. He can’t be bitter if he runs- that’s all Younghyun’s done, after all, is run away. 

And eventually, things start to grow fuzzy around the edges; the harsh amber glow of the mage’s eyes, glinting unwaveringly, unblinkingly from his perch, reminds Younghyun of the hawks he used to fly with his father when he was young. But eventually, as pain seeps into his bones and exhaustion overcomes him, the glow starts to become warmer, less intimidating, almost...welcoming. 

And even though something, a voice so tiny he overlooks it in his exhaustion, screams for him to stay alert, he falls into the firelike glow; he succumbs, and the world goes dark, and the pain fades away into nothingness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh my apologies i have so much schoolwork, my motivation to exist is dwindling badly. but hey at least hopefully theres a day6 comeback soon annnnnd we had got7’s new album GOD I love Got7. k bye for now gamers 😔


	6. Dead Ends

Younghyun’s mind seems to wake before anything else does; he can hear the things happening around him, taste the scent of rich food in the air, but his eyes refuse to open. Still half asleep, he takes comfort in the sounds- the soft clink of pots and pans, the shuffle of footsteps on the floor, the low hum of an unfamiliar voice to a tune he doesn’t recognize. They remind him of home, of his childhood, in a way. 

It feels as though a heavy weight is resting above his eyes, the pressure making him feel sleepy, unable to think. Though he cannot move, he tries to remember. . . what day is it? The last thing he recalls his the anxiety, the nervousness, just before his coronation-

_ Oh.  _

It’s like a tidal wave, when the memories flood in faster than he can take it, punching the air out of his lungs-  _ his parents, the dragon, Jackson, the mage, Jae.  _ Is he alive? Is this death? Floating in nothingness, forced to relive horrible memories, trapped inside his own mind? Is he-

His eyes snap open, and everything is bright and loud and  _ still  _ he can’t move. His vision settles on the ceiling above him, wooden panels spotted with dark knots and run through with rivulets of dark grains, and he focuses on them until he feels his heartbeat start to slow. He becomes aware of the gentle touch of a hand on his arm, and somehow comes to realize that he is safe; the hand feels safe, in a way he can’t explain. 

“You’re awake?” The voice comes from somewhere to his left, though he can’t bring himself to turn his head quite yet; the questioning note to the statement makes Younghyun think that the speaker isn’t really sure that he  _ is  _ awake. But slowly, the alertness is starting to return to him, his thought becoming sharper, more coherent. He remembers the man with the amber eyes now, how he’d become weaker and weaker until he’d just faded out of consciousness- he has a feeling that his state right now has something to do with the mage’s influence over him. 

“Who a-are. . .” His voice gives out, his throat raw and dry. The hand disappears from his arm.

“I’m going to get you some water,” the voice says gently, “My name is Park Sungjin- I’ll explain more to you in a moment, okay?” Younghyun nods weakly. He hears footsteps retreat and then return, the floorboards creaking. Younghyun takes the glass gratefully, finding strength in his fingers to hold onto it. “You’ve only been asleep for the night, actually,” Sungjin explains, sitting in a chair just out of Younghyun’s view, “I’m surprised by how fast you recovered- and by the fact that you made it here at all.”

“How did I get here?” Though raspy, with the help of the water his voice has started to return. Very slowly, he sits up, finally glancing over at the stranger that’s helped him. He finds himself in a small bedroom, dimly lit by the rays of the rising sun through a small, dusty window. The warm glow illuminates the small bed he’s lying in, soft blankets rumpled and disheveled, the only other furniture in the room a small bedside table. He notices his coat hanging on the hook on the back of the door, tattered and dirty, stained with blotches and specks of something suspiciously like blood, and his sword leaning up against the wall.

Sungjin, as he called himself, sits in a spindly wooden chair next to his bed, gazing off awkwardly as Younghyun takes in his surroundings- he’s maybe around his age, with inky black hair that falls over his eyes, strong features set in a look of thoughtfulness. At Younghyun’s question, he looks up, eyes lighting up with a soft kind of pleasure when he sees that he’s managed to sit up. 

“I’m not sure how you got here, to be honest,” he says, shrugging, “with the state Jae was in when you arrived, I’m surprised either of you made it at all.” 

“Jae?” Younghyun interjects curiously- he’d assumed he’d escaped, run away after the initial clash with the mage. “Is he here?” 

“He brought you here,” Sungjin corrects him, “but like I said, lord knows how. Could barely hold himself up when he showed up on my doorstep.” He grimaces.

“Is he okay?” 

“I don’t know.” With a long, unreadable look at Younghyun, he continues, “can I ask how  _ you  _ came across him, of all people? The  _ prince _ is the last person I’d expect to have ever crossed paths with him, let alone earn his trust- I’m not accusing you of anything,” he adds, “but I’d like to know what you did to put him in the state he’s in right now.”

“I didn’t do anything-”

“I didn’t say you did,” Sungjin pushes on, gently but firmly, “I know what’s happening in the kingdom, and I’m not going to hurt you or turn you in. But when a friend I haven’t seen in  _ years _ shows up at my home with the prince of Ethermore knocked unconscious in his arms, I’d like to know how it happened. I just want to know your story, I promise.” There’s ill-concealed worry hidden behind Sungjin’s eyes, and so Younghyun relents, slowly starting to recount the events of the night before.

When he finally finishes, Sungjin stares at him in disbelief; just telling the story again exhausts him, and what little energy he regained dissipates again, leaving his limbs leaden and heavy. 

“Thank you,” is all he says after a long minute, “you must have been through a lot- I’m sure you haven’t told me even half, and I don’t expect you to. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like- I can’t guarantee your safety, but I’m happy to try.” 

“Wait,” Younghyun says when Sungjin stands up to leave, “what about Jae? What happened to him?” 

“Do you think you can walk?” Sungjin says, “I think it’d be best if you see for yourself.” Younghyun’s stomach drops, twisting into nervous, guilty knots; if one more person dies for him, he isn’t sure how he can take it. Nobody else deserves to be hurt for his benefit, not even- not even a  _ stranger,  _ somebody he barely knows, even if he threw himself into battle of his own accord for some unknown reason. 

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, testing if his legs will hold his weight. His knees buckle, and Sungjin is quick to catch him, letting him use his shoulder lightly for support as he tries to stand again. 

“How- how do you know him?” He asks, feebly trying to make conversation as he staggers to his feet.

“That’s a long story,” Sungjin says truthfully, “But at one time, he was like my older brother. He disappeared years ago, and I thought he’d died- until he showed up last night, with you.” He leads him out of the dim room he’d slept in, into a brighter, more open kitchen. Younghyun notices how everything is simple, rustic, the walls and floor all made of wood the same color, It’s small, barely a cabin, fit for one person to live in by themself.

They walk into another room much like the one Younghyun was in, curtains drawn to block the bright sunlight outside. 

In only the light flowing in from behind them, Jae looks very small, blankets drawn up to his chin; on one side they fall low, revealing bandages wrapped tight around his side. His face is peaceful, lips parted slightly in his sleep, his dark hair with those curious blonde streaks fanned out behind his head on the pillow in a sort of halo. The expression is marred by a startling gash running down the side of his face, cutting deep red from his forehead to his cheek. His right eye is swollen shut, slashed directly through by the cut. 

“He passed out as soon as you arrived,” Sungjin says from behind, startling him- momentarily, he’d forgotten he was there. “That wound’s nasty, and I think it’s infected- it would explain his fever, and the shaking, and-”

“Fever? Shaking?” Younghyun asks, guilt pooling in his stomach and making him feel sick-  _ nobody else should have to get hurt because of me.  _

“Remember that he took on a mage and potentially two guards,” Sungjin reminds him gently, “I don’t know much about magical wounds, but for what it’s worth, he’s doing better than I thought.” 

“How did you. . .”

“He woke up for a few minutes in the middle of the night,” Sungjin says, “enough to tell me how he got hurt, and who hurt him. He hasn’t really moved again since.” 

Younghyun stares at Jae, strangely innocent-looking and soft beneath the blankets despite the way half of his face is covered in purple swelling and raw flesh, and thinks that he shouldn’t have to go through any of this at all. 

He looks at Jae and for a moment sees Jackson instead, lying sprawled out on the ground on the moss and dirt of the forest floor instead of the clean sheets in Sungjin’s home, and suddenly grief pours over him and drenches him like a waterfall, pummeling at him violently in an attempt to knock him to the ground. It’s not tears, or sickness, or even pain, but rather an abrupt, violent emptiness that he feels all around him, consuming him in a way that fills his lungs and suffocates him. 

Sungjin seems to take notice at the way he crumbles, and just leads him away with a light touch to his shoulder and back to the darker, dimmer room he came out of, where things are easier to take in, easier to process. 

For a while he simply sits, staring blankly at the floor; behind his eyes memories flash, clearly as though he was seeing them for the first time. They settle in his consciousness, steep in his mind, affirming for the first time that they are real and that they happened, that his father and presumably his mother, and the dragon that was supposed to symbolize protection and safety for the kingdom, and his  _ best friend  _ are all  _ gone.  _ That his home is overtaken, overpowered, that the kingdom has fallen and he’s wanted dead, that everybody  _ associated  _ with him is going to be wanted dead too. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he finally rises again, a sort of solid, iron resolve settled deep inside his chest, a shell that encases the horrible grief and keeps it safely locked away for now. Instead, he gathers his strength and stands, walking slowly but surely on the cool wooden floor to find Sungjin, snatching up his sword and coat on the way out, to  _ warn him.  _

He finds him sitting at a table bathed in bright sunlight, the soft rays of dawn exchanged for the vibrancy of midday, reading a book. He looks up when Younghyun appears, glancing down quizzically at the belongings held in his hands. 

“I need to leave,” Younghyun tells him breathlessly, “I don’t-  _ you  _ don’t deserve-”

“Woah,” Sungjin says, standing from his seat, “no, you’re not. You haven’t had  _ nearly  _ enough rest, and besides-”

“Yes I  _ am _ ,” Younghyun growls, making for the door as fast as he can; Sungjin easily blocks him, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at him with a slightly irritated look.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says firmly, “it’s unsafe out there for you, especially with the state you’re in- and what, are you just going to leave  _ him  _ behind?” He points to the doorway to Jae’s room, where still the thief is sleeping soundly, trapped in his feverish coma. 

“ _ Him? _ I barely know him!” Younghyun protests, “I don’t know why the  _ hell  _ he had to do that!  _ I  _ didn’t ask him to!” He didn’t ask  _ anybody  _ to. “It’s unsafe out there for me, and it’s unsafe in  _ here  _ for all of us,  _ because  _ of me! Let me leave,” he pleads, desperate, “so nobody else dies.”

“So you’d leave, if I let you,” Sungjin says, undeterred, something like anger rising up in his tone, “and you’d never look back? Even if we’d be safe, you’d just abandon the man that saved your  _ life  _ without even a thank you? He very well may die from the injuries he got while  _ saving you,  _ and you- you just want to  _ run away? _ ” That strikes Younghyun down a little, forces him to back off, because that’s the  _ last  _ thing he wants to do. He hates all the running he’s already done, so why would he want to run anymore? 

“I never asked to be saved,” he says, much quieter, more subdued, “by  _ anybody.  _ I- I don't want any more blood on my hands, and they’re after me, and if they find me here they might kill you too. And I  _ won’t _ ,” he says fiercely, “let that happen. Not again.” He takes a deep breath, “I just don’t know  _ why-  _ why does everybody care? Why- why do I  _ have  _ to be saved? Why did Jae have to fight for me at all? I don’t want people getting hurt for my wellbeing,” he explains. Maybe Sungjin can see the grief behind his eyes, the torrent trying so hard to push its way out of his body and into the world. “I’ve been forced,” he says, the words stilted, “to run away from my problems before. I know I’m a coward. But all I see,” he looks Sungjin in the eye, finally, “are dead ends, any path I decide to walk.” 

Sungjin stares at him for a moment. “Nobody said,” he starts carefully, thoughtfully, “that you have to walk alone.” Younghyun blinks at him, confused.

“What?”

“Can I ask,” he says gently, “where you’re planning to go, if you leave? Certainly not back to the castle, or anywhere near it- the price on your head is fantastically high, let me tell you.” Younghyun freezes- he hadn’t thought that far. 

“How do you know that?” 

“I play at the inn in town,” Sungjin says easily, flicking his head at the guitar leaned up against the wall, “news travels fast. You’re safe here,” he reassures him firmly, “and wherever you decide to go, you’ve got the two of us behind you.” He says it with such sureness that it startles Younghyun. 

‘But. . . why?” He asks.

“What’s happening to the kingdom is terrible, and I’d like to stop it just as much as you do. Besides, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Set out to take the throne back for yourself? Restore the kingdom to its former glory? Technically,” Sungjin says, “you  _ are  _ rightfully the king.”

_ The king. _

“What if I can’t?”

“Of course you can.”

“Why are you so  _ sure _ ?” Younghyun asks.

“It’s your birthright,” Sungjin shrugs.

“And you  _ accept _ that? What if I’m not fit to be king?”

“You are,” Sungjin says confidently, “though it seems you’re desperate to hide it from yourself.” Younghyun gapes at him in disbelief; Sungjin gives him a triumphant grin. 

“How can you be so positive?” Younghyun asks, “how can you be so sure, when all I’ve seen is blood and death? What if I fail?” 

“Some things aren’t choices,” Sungjin explains, wisdom sparkling in his soft brown eyes, “they’re simply our duty- our destiny, if you will. It’s my duty to entertain the inn in town just as Jae, for whatever reason, made it his to save your life. And yours, prince,” he says, poking Younghyun’s chest, “is to lead this kingdom out of darkness. It’s not up to you, and so you may as well try. Maybe you should take the help offered to you along the way, instead of pushing it away in some idiotic act of chivalry.” 

“You’re offering to come with me?”

“I am.”

In the other room, Jae erupts into a fit of loud, sharp coughs that send the both of them running to him; to Younghyun’s surprise and immense concern, he finds the thief sitting up in bed, scrunching his eyes closed in pain. Sungjin races to support him, and Younghyun stands frozen in the doorway, because in the few hours since he’s last seen him, the gash on his face has impossibly shrunk to barely a scratch. 

So it’s with both bright, intelligent eyes that Jae pins Younghyun down, squinting at him in the dim room. Sungjin stares at him in disbelief, at a complete loss for words.

“You’re the prince?” Jae asks him, his voice scratchy and rough.

“ _ I thought you were going to die and  _ that’s  _ the first thing you say when you wake up? _ ” Sungjin wheezes, collapsing into the chair beside the bed.

“I thought he would be taller.”

“Will you at  _ least  _ lie back down?” 

“Fine,” Jae huffs, lying back down in the bed. “God, it’s dark in here, isn’t it?” Younghyun pulls open the curtains, letting light into the room, and better illuminating Jae. Despite his sudden, rather miraculous recovery, Younghyun can see that his face is ghostly pale, and his brow is still shining from his fever, his hair falling raggedly around his face. The open wound from earlier has miraculously closed, leaving only a fine, jagged line that splits his eyebrow and runs directly over his eye. 

When he turns towards Younghyun, the prince jumps back in surprise- his eye, the scarred one, the one that  _ shouldn’t even work at all,  _ glows bright, haunting amber in the sunlight streaming in.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i consistently forget which day I’m supposed to update this on so like if the schedule is off oopsies??? im really exhausted and just anxious hours and I have a whole history paper to write tonight so uh i truly am productivity incarnate?? also sorry for always popping off in the notes about unrelated shit I just like it’s like a little journal and I don’t feel like im bothering anybody by talking :”) jsjdjakfjjwjtjjjtjekwjtjkwbt anyhow i hope u all have a really nice day or night or morning or evening :)) byebye !!


	7. Certain Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies i think this one is a little short

Despite his earlier energy, Jae falls back asleep shortly after waking. Though Sungjin reassures him that he’s going to recover, the image of Jae’s scarred eye blazing bright orange in the sunlight is burned into the back of Younghyun’s mind, as if to remind him that in the end,  _ he’s  _ the one who did that to him. 

Sungjin’s house is situated on top of a hill, hidden in a thicket of tall oak trees; a short walk one way leads to a well worn pathway that spirals northwards up to the mountains. In the other direction is a short but steep cliff, where the trees thin out just enough to reveal a tiny town far down in the valley. That same path cuts through the center, and Younghyun knows that if he were to follow it south, he’d eventually arrive in Ceol-  _ home.  _

But he can’t go back, can he?

Now, he sits in the shade of a tree, back leaned against its rough bark, absentmindedly sharpening his sword as his thoughts wander. A sort of brick wall has been erected in his mind, one that blocks off the things he wants to remember the least- razor sharp memories of dragon’s blood spilling on the floor and horrified screams have been dulled, muffled so that he can think clearly.

It’s all too easy to forget, to ignore the mounting pressure building all around him, when the air outside Sungjin’s house is so clear, and he’s so far removed from where his problems lie- he’s always been one to hide from responsibility, especially when he’s now responsible for the lives, the  _ freedom,  _ of his entire kingdom. He knows he doesn’t have a choice, really. He can’t hide anymore. 

“You have a plan?” Sungjin’s voice startles him, making him look up from where he’d been staring blankly at his newly sharpened sword; nervously, he turns the weapon over in his hands, taking comfort in the familiar feel of the worn grip.

“Am I supposed to?” He asks, looking up to meet Sungjin’s eyes. “I barely know what I’m up against, let alone how to defeat it.” 

“I don’t know much more than you do,” he says, “but Tarmon is a common stop for travelers from all over- I’m sure we can get the information we need there.” He gestures to the town far below, nearly invisible among the trees.

“We,” Younghyun repeats, as if testing out the word, “I still don’t understand why you’re so set on coming with me. I’m not so sure I’m going to survive this, whatever it is,” he says honestly, “what makes you so sure you I-  _ we-  _ will?”

“I don’t,” Sungjin replies, “but frankly, I’m sick of staying in one place for so long- I was raised on the road, not trapped up in a house. I know a good man when I see one, and I’d like to help him on his journey, is all. We’ll give Jae the rest of today and tonight to rest, and we’ll ride into town tomorrow, ask around at the inn,” he offers. Younghyun nods slowly.

“You said there’s a price on my head,” Younghyun says, “how do I know I won’t be captured, or killed?” 

“Tarmon’s small, and I know nearly everybody who lives there,” Sungjin says, “all of them should be loyal to the kingdom as it was- and loyal to you. I’ve met my fair share of traveling crooks and thieves, so there’s no telling who else might be passing through, but we’ll all be on guard,” he reassures him. “But I say we worry about that tomorrow,” he nods at the slowly setting sun, “for now, why don’t you come inside. I’m due at the inn in half an hour or hour or so, and I need somebody watching Jae in case he wakes up again, or if- God forbid- he gets worse.” 

“You don’t think he will, though, right?” Younghyun asks, concerned. There’s something new, constantly tugging at the back of his mind, a sort of quiet protectiveness for the outlaw; maybe it’s because he knows that he owes him his life, or maybe it’s because he can’t quite process how grateful he is for his rescue. Sungjin chuckles, holding out a hand to help him up.

“I think he’ll be fine by morning,” he says. His expression turns somber for a moment. “He’s been through much, much worse.” 

“He. . . has?” Younghyun jogs to catch up with him as he walks briskly back towards the house, clumsily shoving his sword back into its sheath.

“I’m afraid it’s not my story to tell,” Sungjin says, “but there’s a damn good reason he was able to survive this.”

“Oh.”

Sungjin ushers him inside maybe just a little too urgently, and Younghyun is all too aware of the fact that they’re  _ all  _ on the run now, and because of  _ him.  _ He doesn’t know much, but he knows that the king and queen are dead (his beautiful, gentle mother and his noble father, _gone_ ) and overthrown, and based on his encounter with the mage the night before, he’s a fugitive, wanted  _ dead,  _ probably. And for some reason still partially incomprehensible to Younghyun, Sungjin is putting himself on the line to help him hide. And for  _ some reason,  _ Jae decided to go and almost get himself  _ killed  _ just to keep him alive.

He still doesn’t understand- he’s not worth it, he doesn’t deserve it. 

Sungjin quickly packs his guitar into its case and tacks up his horse, sternly reminding Younghyun to keep a close watch over Jae before riding away, down the path that slowly spirals downwards into Tarmon’s cozy little valley. He leans against the doorway, letting the cool evening breeze ruffle his hair, until he can’t hear the hoofbeats anymore. For a moment, as he watches the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves shimmer in the last, lingering rays of sunlight, he marvels at the sheer kindness that Sungjin, on whom’s doorstep he had literally been dumped, has shown him. He could have rejected him, could have left him outside to be found by somebody much more malicious and evil, but he didn’t. 

He closes the door softly, retreating back into the already familiar setting of the tiny home, and makes his way to Jae.

He’s sleeping again, but this time it’s less of a desperate, barely-clinging-onto-life sleep and more of a peaceful one; he looks almost normal again, as he was  _ before,  _ save for the thin suggestion of a scar slashing jaggedly down his face. Younghyun knows that his recovery was nothing short of miraculous- those wounds should have taken  _ days  _ to close, not mere  _ hours-  _ though he can’t understand why. Tufts of hair fall in Jae’s face, shifting slightly whenever emits a tiny snore.

Just as he’s about to leave the room again, deeming the thief okay enough to leave alone, he hears a disgruntled curse from behind him. 

“Oi,” Jae grumbles, “where’s Sungjin?” Younghyun turns around to find Jae sitting up again, running a hand through his hair and glancing around somewhat blearily. 

“He just left,” Younghyun says, “um, how are you feeling?” The question comes out a little awkward, stilted; without the third presence of Sungjin in the room, or the cover of urgency and the darkness of night, he feels strangely exposed in the much-too-quiet room. 

“Fine, actually,” Jae says, stretching his arms above his head experimentally, “don’t think I should be, but. . . fine.” 

“I’m sorry,” Younghyun blurts out before he can stop himself. Jae gives him a confused look, his hand shooting up instinctually to trace the scar below his eye.

“For what?”

“For, you know. . .” he gestures vaguely at Jae, stumbling over his words, “the-”

“This?” Jae barely holds in a laugh as he points at his face, “why are  _ you  _ sorry? You didn’t do it,” he says in a matter-of-fact way.

“But if I didn’t- if I wasn’t- you’re not mad, or anything?” Jae shrugs, as if what happened to him wasn’t anything more than a scratch, a minor inconvenience. 

“Why, can I ask,” Jae says, rolling his eyes, “should I have any reason to be angry with  _ you?  _ I was very aware before that my actions would come with consequences,  _ and, _ ” he continues, his tone slightly snappish, “you’ve got no reason to keep moping about it, either. It’s depressing.” 

“Sorry?”

“Do you ever quit apologizing? I’d expect our kingdom’s  _ great ruler  _ to be a bit more assertive, or eloquent maybe, or  _ something _ . Not that you didn’t almost kill me the other night,” he adds, “but I have a feeling that was different.” 

Younghyun observes Jae for a moment, and begins to understand that he’s doing something along the lines of testing him, trying to feel out his wit, his nerve.

“So you believe me now?” He asks.

“That you’re the prince? Unfortunately,” he responds, “they don’t send out a magical royal search party for just anyone, and it  _ would  _ explain why you were looking to be so low profile. What d’you like to be called, then?  _ His most perfect and royal highness- _ ”

“ _ Please  _ no,” Younghyun cuts him off, again harshly reminded of Jackson in a way that makes his chest hurt, “just call me Younghyun.”

A pause.

“Younghyun?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think,” he says carefully, “is going to happen to me?” After he asks, his expression shifts, just barely- maybe in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting himself to actually say that. Younghyun takes a moment to process it, taken aback by the truthfulness, the very uncharacteristic vulnerability of the question. 

“I guess it depends,” he responds, monitoring Jae’s face carefully. The thief’s expression has gone blank, his eyes steely, glinting two different colors as if in a sort of challenge. He reminds Younghyun of something wild, wary, alert and suddenly cautious compared to the easy humor he usually has; he’s said something far too personal, and he cannot take it back. “I’d assumed you  _ wanted  _ to be done with me, with whatever the hell sort of quest I’m supposed to be on. Sungjin keeps asking me if I’m leaving you behind, but I thought you didn’t  _ care-  _ I thought you wanted to be left alone. I never asked you to follow me into that fight, and I’m not  _ asking  _ you to follow me any farther than this,” he says, gesturing at the dim but comfortable interior of Sungjin’s home.

“I don’t have to give you my reasons for anything,” Jae says, “and I  _ don’t _ get left behind. I leave of my own accord, thank you very much,” he says defiantly. Clearing his throat, he continues, “and besides, I don’t think you’d last too long out there without  _ somebody  _ to watch your back. And on a more technical level, I’m now the  _ second _ most wanted man in the kingdom- after you, of course- for being allied with you. So uh,” he shrugs, “there’s that.”

“Are you saying you’re coming too?” Younghyun asks, disbelieving.

“Where are we going?” Jae grins, cocking a humorous eyebrow; Younghyun can’t help but grin back.

“Probably certain death.”

“ _ Hell  _ yeah.”

Things get easier after that- the awkwardness in the room fades away, replaced with the odd sort of familiarity that can only be found between two people who have faced death together. Slowly, Younghyun starts to see Jae as less of a thief, an untrustworthy stranger, and more of something like a companion. The stark realness of his situation starts to dawn on him, but in a gentler way, as the sun starts to set outside and the duration of Sungjin’s absence stretches longer. At least, he thinks, he won’t have to do any of it alone.

“So, what’s your plan, exactly? I mean, most of the legendary heroes of history went on some epic quest to do what they gotta do, so what are we up to? Sailing across the great seas? Braving the deadly wilderness of the mountains? Slaying a dragon?” Jae counts on his fingers; Younghyun winces at the last one. 

Avoiding the fact that he doesn’t have a plan at all, he shoots back, “A bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Can you even get out of bed?” He gives Jae a pointed look, at the way he’s still propped up on pillows, half of his torso wrapped in bandages. 

“So you have no clue what you’re doing.”

“Shut up.”

The front door opens with a loud click, and it’s only then that they realize how much time has passed; instead of sunlight, cool moonlight falls in dapples on the floor, and the only other illumination in the room is a single candle on the bedside table. The flickering flame bathes half of Jae’s face in a ghostly, orange light, the dancing rays sometimes catching brilliantly in the iris of his altered eye.

Sungjin materializes in the doorway, his face serious, his guitar still strapped across his back.

“I have. . . news,” he says, scratching the back of his neck in nervous uncertainty. 

“What?” Younghyun’s heart stops, his mind immediately leaping to the worst possible thing that could come out of Sungjin’s mouth.

“I ran into some trouble trying to leave the inn tonight,” he starts, sitting down in one of the armchairs leaned against the wall, “and usually there’s no trouble at all- it’s a peaceful town, Tarmon, all merchants and farmers- but near the end of my time there, some. . . men came inside. Wearing all black, heavily armed, the sort that sticks out as soon as they walk in.”

“Sounds familiar,” Jae growls, and Younghyun nods in agreement.

“There were. . . three, I think,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “one stood up on a table, told me to stop playing. The others drew their weapons. He started. . . talking, except it was almost something more, and he had this deep sort of voice that was hard not to listen to, and all of them had hoods covering their faces. He said that,” Sungjin pauses, looking meaningfully at Younghyun, “that the king and queen are dead, and the prince missing. That we’re now under the power of a man named Bang Chan, that he’s our ’new’ king, and that we obey his law, or die. They offered some prize, a large sum of money, for anybody who could find you.” He stops again, and Younghyun sees that his chest is rising and falling rapidly, his eyes wide and burning fiercely in the candlelight; even though he’s only known him for a day or two, Younghyun senses that Sungjin is not easily shaken, and whatever he witnessed in town was not something to take lightly.

“Then what happened?” Younghyun prompts gently. Sungjin nods to himself, as if he’d forgotten and regained his train of thought.

“I told you, Tarmon is a very traditionally loyal town,” he says, “there was shouting, arguing, chaos- the men in black were ridiculed, attacked for their speech. So they left.” Sungjin shrugs helplessly.

“They. . . left.” Jae furrows his brow. “Nobody got murdered? Magicked? Knocked out?” He points sarcastically to his own wound.

“I know it doesn’t sound bad, but it was odd, eerie even. Something didn’t feel right in the air afterwards, and I packed up and left as soon as possible. Even so,” he says, sighing, “we still need supplies, because now I have a feeling we’ve got to get you away from here as soon as possible.” He nods to Younghyun, “and you’re no better off, either,” he looks at Jae. “How do you think you’ll feel tomorrow morning?”

Jae shakes his head a little, shoots him one of his trademark grins. “Good as new,” he says, patting his bandaged side lightly. Younghyun nods thoughtfully, fingertips digging into his knee as he thinks, hard. 

“I’m just,” he says, “I’m sorry you have to-”

“No,” Sungjin cuts him off, “it’s just as dangerous for anybody who supports you now, and there are plenty of people who do. There’s nothing you can do to change that, so there’s no point in apologizing,” he says sternly.

“Fine,” he sighs, “tomorrow morning, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently in english class not paying attention because i rolled out of bed two minutes before class started and i don’t have the brain power to pay attention rn. anyways yes this is a wonky transitional chapter and there isn’t much going on but poor yonk, he is grieving but he’s also pushed it off, it would be a shame if all that sadness... hit him all at once some other time in the future. or maybe not? idk i legitimately started this story as an extremely self indulgent way to fulfill my fantasy dreams and so i picked the most cliche plot in existence, which apparently included his entire family dying and i did not prepare to deal with that :”) so uh we shall see. 
> 
> ALSO F U C K guys i drew a map for this story!! A map !! it’s such a cute map !! BUT I don’t know how to put it into the fic because it’s only a file on my computer and not floating out in the interwebs !!! i want to try to go figure it out tho Bc it’s a banger map let me tell you 
> 
> anywAys it’s a good thing i have 18 chapters of this prewritten which you COULD find all on my quotev but,,, i’m not telling u my quotev so,, suffer. it gives me time to also write four nct fics and two tbz fics at once, obviously. 
> 
> ok now I have to go to class lmao bye


	8. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot about this chapter ._. it’s also kind of short oops

Younghyun wakes to the smell of smoke.  


At first he thinks nothing of it, figuring that it’s just Sungjin cooking, or a small fire burning just outside. Despite his steady recovery from the mage’s attack, he finds he was much more exhausted than he allowed himself to believe; he struggles to find the will to get out of bed, even with such a massive task looming ahead of him. 

It’s only when he’s startled by a frantic rapping on the doorframe that he shoots upright, heart suddenly pounding; somebody grabs his wrist, tugging him to his feet. 

“What the-”

“Save it sleeping beauty, you’ve got to see this  _ now, _ ” Jae hisses, dragging him through the house and outside into the morning air, and when he inhales he finds the air sharp, hot, thicker with smoke. The dewy grass is cool beneath his bare feet, and he rubs his eyes with his free hand, still struggling to fully wake up as Jae pulls him along. 

They find Sungjin already standing on the edge of the cliff, squinting out onto the horizon; it's not hard to find out what he’s looking at. 

Down in the valley, just where Younghyun remembers the little town was located, smoke obscures the forest, spiraling up in thick clouds so dark they block some of the weak morning sunlight from leaking through. 

When Sungjin turns to look at them, his expression is grim, and fear flickers clearly in his eyes. 

“What happened?” Younghyun says, a useless question- it’s awfully obvious what happened, but he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“They must’ve come back,” Sungjin muses quietly, half to himself, “they came back, and burned the whole town to the ground, but why?” Younghyun stares down into the valley, watching the smoke curl into the air and change shapes with a sort of morbid fascination, unable to gather his thoughts enough to answer. 

“That’s not the question,” Jae cuts in, dropping Younghyun’s wrist to pace back and forth in the grass, “how long ago did they do it? Are they still nearby, or did they leave? How long do we have before they make their way to us?” 

“Are there any survivors?” Sungjin continues quietly, his voice heavy with something Younghyun recognizes as grief. 

“No,” Jae snaps, “as much as I know you were close to those people we need to  _ leave-”  _

“We’re not  _ prepared  _ to leave yet-”

“Wait,” Younghyun interjects, stepping between his bickering comrades, snapping out of something of a daze; he remembers that he’s supposed to be responsible for this whole thing, that he’s supposed to have some sort of leadership here, “Sungjin’s right, even though it’s a risk, checking the-  _ whatever _ remains of the town could be a good idea. If there  _ are  _ any survivors, we,” he stutters, “we could get some valuable information from them, maybe, and- and they could need our help.” 

“But what if they’re still around? The guys that did it, the guys that hurt  _ us, _ ” Jae protests, “the guys that did  _ that. _ ” He points to the smoke raising in the valley, “What makes you think we can escape them, should we come across them?” 

“I don’t know,” Younghyun admits, “if we can. But I still think we need to go.” Perhaps it’s the smoke filling his head and his lungs, but the longer he stares into the smoke-obscured valley, the more he begins to feel nauseous, sick to his stomach at the thought that if it weren’t for him, the buildings below would still be standing, the people inside still alive and happy.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “They didn’t know you were here,” Sungjin reminds him, “it’s not your fault.” He blinks, swallows hard, and draws himself up, forcing the guilt, the nausea, away. He’s right, after all. 

The stench of burnt matter grows stronger as the travel down towards the remains of the town, sticking reluctantly to the main path. They’re wary, Younghyun’s hand never leaving the hilt of his sword, aware of how silent the surrounding forest is. 

When they finally arrive, Younghyun finds himself speechless, his gut twisting in grief for these  _ people,  _ strangers he never knew, but whose pain he feels all the same. Their footsteps seem overly loud, echoing in the silent clearing, as their boots crunch on ash, charcoal, unrecognizable rubble.

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” Sungjin whispers quietly, staring, dazed, at the wreckage. Some of the collapsed frames of homes, dusted a deep black, still smoke, abandoned carts half-charred smashed into the ground. Not a single sign of life, of the liveliness and vibrance that must have once made this town what it was, remains.

“Well,” Jae sighs heavily, “might as well take a look around, while we’re here- who knows, maybe some people escaped, and are still nearby.” Younghyun watches as he wanders off, examining the larger bits of wreckage as he goes, and he notices that he still walks with a slight limp, his hand moving to his side every once in a while. Despite that, he hasn’t complained once.

Younghyun makes his way to the far edge of the town, feeling small and helpless as he walks the silent, ashen streets. He startles when a dog darts out from beneath a ruined stable, its russet coat shimmering in the sunlight as it crosses his sight; he wonders if its owners are dead. 

Even in the valley, the trees crowd the outskirts of the town, looming tall and dark, branches reaching like claws up into the afternoon sky. Somehow, none of the flames managed to reach the forest, which he supposes is a good thing; that fire could have spread hundreds of miles through the forest, leaving more devastation in its wake than it has already caused.

He stares out into the trees, gaze sweeping across the landscape, scrutinizing the place where the distant trunks fade into nothingness, merging with their shadows.

Somewhere in the brush, a loud crack rings out.

He jumps into action, already on edge from the town’s eerie atmosphere, ripping his sword from its sheath with a loud scrape. That was, undoubtedly, a footstep- he  _ knows  _ it was, it  _ must  _ have been. With a shaky hand, he keeps his blade drawn, gaze darting around in panic as he searches for the source of the noise.

“Who’s there?” He asks the forest. Much faster than he anticipated, a shape emerges from the shadows, stepping carefully; Younghyun registers the sharp point of an arrow, drawn back taut, aimed directly at his chest before anything else.

“W-who are you?” Despite the fact that the person’s voice wavers, clearly fearful, the arrow’s obvious trajectory does not change. He’s a boy, maybe a year or two younger than him, wearing simple clothes stained with soot; his dark hair falls partially over his eyes, but Younghyun can still see them staring at him, wide and glistening. He knows, all that once, that he isn’t an enemy- he’s a survivor.

Younghyun glances over his shoulder, looking for Jae or Sungjin, who are nowhere in sight. 

“Hey,” he starts, using the sort of voice you’d use when coaxing a skittish animal out of hiding, “I’m not going to hurt you.” To demonstrate his harmlessness, he lowers his sword, slipping it back into its sheath slowly. Immediately, the boy lowers his bow, letting the string fall loose again. 

“Who are you?” He repeats, stepping forwards, out of the shadows. Younghyun notices the way his clothes are torn in places, the way there’s ash streaked across his cheeks, the way he visibly seems to shake with  _ fear.  _

“My name is Younghyun,” he tells him in that same gentle voice, “I’m-”

“ _ Hey! _ ” Jae’s voice rings out startlingly loud across the clearing, “who’s that?” Younghyun turns to find him jogging towards him, half ready to pull one his knives out of who knows where; the boy recoils, reaching to draw his bow again. Younghyun cringes internally, afraid he’s scared away what little trust he’s managed to earn from him, and he scrambles to recover, glaring at Jae when he stops to stand next to him.

“This is-”

“Jae. Who are you?” Jae cuts him off, squinting skeptically at the boy, who steps back into the shadows again. Younghyun steps on his foot hard enough to make him yelp.

“ _ Don’t  _ scare  _ him, _ ” He hisses, “ _ he’s been through enough. _ ” 

Sungjin has enough sense to approach slowly, coming up on Younghyun’s other side with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Wait,” the boy says, stepping forwards again, “you said your name was Younghyun. You’re not-”

“I am.”

“-the prince?” The boy’s eyes widen, “if you really are, then you, you have to get out of here, you have to leave  _ now,  _ they’re looking for you, they- they killed  _ everybody _ ,” his voice grows quieter “everybody except me. They’ll k-kill you too, if you don’t get out of here soon.” The boy’s voice shakes terribly, threatening to break, his chest heaving as his gaze darts around wildly. Younhyun doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to react.

“Hey, slow down,” Younghyun says, stepping forwards, “we’re safe, you’re safe, for now. What’s your name?” Maybe finally understanding that they truly won’t hurt him, the boy returns his arrow to the quiver slung over his shoulder, dropping his arm and letting it hang loosely at his side. 

“W-wonpil,” he stutters, still staring with enormous eyes at the three of them, “my name is Wonpil.” There is something about Wonpil’s wide doe eyes that makes Younghyun want to protect him, that conveys a fragile, frayed innocence that he doesn’t want to break. The conversation, if it could even be called that, falls into a lull; for a moment, all there is to be heard in the clearing is the wind quietly shifting the leaves, all wildlife still dead silent after the fires.

“Wonpil,” Sungjin finally says quietly, “what. . . what happened here?” Wonpil’s eyes grow sad, his gaze clouding over and becoming unfocused as he stares off somewhere far away.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice breaking with miserable honesty, “I went to bed, and when I woke up, there was- there was smoke, and fire, and  _ screaming,  _ and I didn’t know what to do so I  _ ran  _ because my, my parents were already gone, and I was scared, and,” he sniffles, “and I ran into the woods because everything was burning, and then there were these  _ men  _ in black cloaks just. . .  _ watching _ .” His voice wavers, and he clenches his fist, “I wish I did something about it,” he adds, “but I didn’t.”

They stand in stunned silence, staring at the ash-streaked, broken boy standing before them.

“So you’ve got nobody left,” Jae says, more to himself than to anybody else; Wonpil seems to hear anyways, and nods hesitantly.

“I-I guess not.”

“I know how that feels.” Younghyun glances over at the thief, to find him smiling softly, as if he’s remembering something fond. He’d think that’s what it was, anyways, if his eyes weren’t so sad. He turns to Younghyun, a hopeful glint in his gaze that silently asks  _ can we keep him?  _ He certainly has no intent to leave him out here, alone.

“Where are you headed?” Wonpil asks, stepping towards them so that the distance between them isn’t so cautious, so far. “I know this area well, I could, I could help you?” 

“Do you know where we could find supplies? Horses, maybe?” Sungjin asks, knowing that Wonpil's offer is rooted in more than generosity; he’s young, alone, and scared- he needs to be looked after, not abandoned in the woods to be caught and killed by the same people who burned his entire life away. Wonpil’s eyes light up, excited to be helpful, maybe.

“Yeah! There’s a village just a few miles up the road, further north- it’s small, smaller than Tarmon is-  _ was,  _ so I doubt they’d have hit it, or even bothered to stop there. Do you need-”

“You to show us the way? That’d be nice, yeah.” Sungjin grins at him, and Wonpil beams, relief and excitement washing over his features so that despite the ash still marring his face, he seems to glow. 

Despite the fact that they walk back through the silent, destroyed town to return to the main road, led by a slightly more enthusiast Wonpil, Younghyun cannot help but feel that his heart is a little lighter, his mood brighter. Maybe it’s the youthfulness that Wonpil brings to their party, or maybe it’s the way that Sungjin watches him with a sort of unguarded fondness Younghyun hasn’t seen in him before. Or maybe it’s the fact that somehow, Jae isn’t limping anymore, and instead he playfully bumps Younghyun’s shoulder as they walk the long, uncertain road ahead of them. 

Jae’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight when he grins cheekily at him, one warm chocolate and the other fierce fire; absently, Younghyun wonders if he even  _ knows.  _ All that really matters right now is that somehow, in their party of four, Younghyun feels just a sliver of that heavy, crushing boulder of grief and guilt chip and fall away.

Oddly enough, he feels  _ safe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry wonpil. just sorry. i only know how to write tragic backstories apparently :”) this one is short but the next one is WAY SHORTER !! it’s kind of a little insignificant (well no very significant) in-between kind of chapter so i might put it up on like Friday idk lol it’s not worth waiting the whole week for. or maybe it is idk. 
> 
> anyways this is my last upload before vacation (thanK GOD FOR VACATION) and the holidays and stuff so !! happy whatever u celebrate !! happy winter !! personally my family celebrates christmas so im hype for that >:) we got dumped on w like a foot and a half of snow so i am pretty happy, the vibes are killer this year lemme tell you. i read the great gatsby in its entirety last night bc i just neglected to do so throughout the entire semester so uh ill be taking a nap now~


	9. Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS IMPORTANT TO NOTE that I have messed with their ages !! A lot !!! 
> 
> IMPORTANTLY Felix is several years older than day6 maknae line. which is damn weird but just. just bear with me.

Footsteps pound on the castle floors, the sharp clip of boot heels echoing throughout the silent, empty halls. Compared to the massive, arching windows and tall ceilings, the sole person sweeping rapidly down the corridor seems small, an insect compared to the magnificence of the architecture surrounding him, every brick and carving seeming to drip with rich history, soaked up from centuries of housing its last inhabitants. It is satisfying, in a way, to him; despite how much these walls still seem to hold onto the past, the royal family has been completely decimated, picked off and killed.

Well, not quite; all except one.

He throws open the doors to the throne room, his entrance explosive, violent. Beneath his hood, his eyes flare iridescent orange. 

Remnants of the attack, of their  _ triumph,  _ still remain scattered about the place; ripped banners torn by angry knives, silks and robes and pretty decorations burnt to ashes that are strewn about the floor like dark snow. The stench of death still hangs heavily over the place, blanketing the air and lingering there so potently that it seems to hover in a dark fog. 

The throne is flanked by two soldiers, dressed in black and looking stoically ahead. Their knuckles are white around their spears, the only sign that give away the fact of how tense they are. 

Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that atop the throne sits a man with white blonde hair swept messily across his forehead, his lips curved into a lazy grin, unfazed by the newcomer’s abrupt appearance. The most distinct thing about him is the ugly scar that slashes across his otherwise charming face, and although his dark and ragged clothing and the intensity of his appearance clash with the elegance of the castle, he seems completely at home there. 

“Back already, Lix?” He drawls, quirking an eyebrow as the man standing before him lowers his hood, “and with no little prince in your hand, either? How  _ disappointing. _ ” 

“Your  _ little prince  _ gave me one hell of a fight,” he growls, his voice gravelly; he lifts his shirt beneath his cloak to reveal a large, barely-healed stab wound in his side; his face is bruised, his nose crooked, and he stands just slightly unevenly, favoring one of his legs, “you never told me he had  _ allies,  _ Chan _. _ ” 

“Oh? Even after we took care of Wang and the others?” Chan asks, genuinely surprised. “My, he  _ did  _ do a number on you- he always seemed like a bit of a weakling, if you ask me-”

“This wasn’t your prince,” Felix cuts him off, “it was his  _ friend-  _ some little snake he picked up in the woods by the northern border, probably some no-name runaway.” Chan laughs loudly, ignoring the way Felix’s eyes flare with fire. He can tell his pride has been wounded more than anything. The mage’s magic can heal his wounds, but a defeat like  _ that _ may bruise his ego forever. 

“You’re telling me you let a common roadside  _ thief  _ best you? I’m nearly ashamed to call you my kin, Lixie.”

“ _ Don’t  _ call me that,” Felix growls, “I’m not a child.” Chan raises his eyebrows, smirking. 

“Course you’re not. Though I do think that even a  _ child _ could have gathered more information on the prince’s whereabouts than you did.”

“I wasn’t  _ finished, _ ” Felix hisses, “as far as I know he’s headed further north, maybe aiming to cross the mountains. We stopped in several villages in the area- not a single person would say a word about him. There wasn’t much information to gather,  _ cousin. _ ” He spits out the last word with venom, irises sparking like embers. 

“Well then,” Chan sighs, exchanging a long glance with one of the guards, “I suppose I’ll have to resort to  _ better  _ methods of tracking him, then. Hannie, love,” he says, “come here, will you?” 

A shape drops from above, directly to Felix’s left, landing lightly on his feet with barely a sound. The mage curses, startled; Han gives him nothing but a cool stare before striding up the steps to stand by Chan’s side. 

“ _ There’s  _ the sort of skill I’m looking for in my men,” Chan pats Han on the back lightly; the young assassin doesn’t react, his expression unchanging. “I believe you know all there is to know already.” Han nods, and without a word brushes back past Felix and slips soundlessly out the throne room doors. 

“I thought you were releasing him after he did your dirty work?” Felix says, watching the boy retreat down the hallway with a bemused expression. Chan only shrugs lazily. 

“One got away,” he explains, grinning madly, “his job isn’t  _ quite  _ done yet. Speaking of dirty work, how’s  _ your  _ little apprentice coming along? Has he spilled enough blood to satisfy you, yet? We could use another one of your kind on our side, you know.” Felix shuffles side to side, looking away. 

“He’s. . . coming along,” he says with uncertainty, “he’s not strong enough for my liking yet.” 

“Knowing your standards, he never will be,” Chan says, laughing lowly, “I’d like to meet this apprentice someday. Despite your criticism, you’ve spoken highly of him- what was his name again?” 

“Dowoon,” Felix answers, “Yoon Dowoon. Don’t worry- I’ll make a killer out of him soon enough.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHA I love this chapter it’s mad short but I love it. Just the image of the castle after it’s been taken over all desolate and stuff? I adore it. It reminds me of when simba returns to his land or whatever like after scar has taken over al it’s all dead and grey. Actually, this fic was inspired by the lion king, I remember i came up with this idea literally while watching it. Anyways also DOWOON I LOVE DOWOONS CHARACTER HE IS SO FUN? I had such a good time planning out his arc ugh I can’t wait for you to meet him. Also Felix, evil Felix, that’s it send tweet or whatever
> 
> also sorry I’m late I suffered some MASSIVE burnout probably as the result of trying to write ten fics at the same time, so uh don’t do that kids. I’ve created somewhat of a schedule for myself so I hopefully don’t do that again 🤩. But I probably won’t follow it. In other news I HOPE YALL HAD A MERRY CHRISTMAS IF YOU CELEBRATE IT !! I had a pretty good one but covid fucked w my ability to see my family ugh but it was still good. OK BYE FOR NOW~


	10. Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good evening

They walk for hours, keeping to the main roads despite how uncomfortable it makes them all- it’s the only way Wonpil knows, and if they’re to make any headway in their mission,  _ whatever  _ it is, they’ll need supplies and horses soon. They rarely come across any other travelers as they go, which is surprising, but they don’t mind it. 

The trees that flank the roads cast dappled shadows on the dust and dirt, that shift lightly with the motion of the breeze; the winds here, so far north in the kingdom, sweep down from the mountains that loom in the distance, giving the air a sharp, cold sting despite it still being early autumn. 

Jae is by far the most nervous of them all; despite his tall stature, he seems small, his steps always fleeting, gaze constantly darting around to scan their surroundings. Younghyun realizes he must not be used to being out in the open for so long, preferring the heavy cover of the forest. Sungjin, though alert, seems relaxed enough, humming a quiet tune as he walks side by side with the skittish thief, occasionally rubbing shoulders with him- maybe to reassure him. Younghyun remembers what Sungjin told him just days ago, ‘ _ at one time, he was like my older brother. But then he disappeared. . .’  _ and wonders what had driven them apart in the first place.

“Just another mile, then we’ll be able to rest. I know the innkeeper, he’ll let us sleep in town for the night, if that’s okay?” Wonpil half mumbles to himself, sneaking a glance at Younghyun as if to ask for permission to speak to him. Younghyun feels a rush of confusion- he’d never liked being addressed so formally, and it’s been so easy to forget how much power his presence holds for somebody like Wonpil. He hates it, in a way; it had always prevented him from making friends when he was younger, that instinctive, distant admiration applied to him as the  _ prince. _

“Please don’t be so formal with me,” he says quietly, wincing at how Wonpil startles at the sound of his voice, “of course it’s okay. Thank you, for risking yourself to help us, by the way.” He smiles, meeting Wonpil’s eyes. Wonpil stutters, looking away for a moment, muttering something that sounds like  _ it’s no problem at all.  _

“O-oh! Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean-”

“ _ God,  _ he’s like a blushing schoolgirl,” Jae cackles, shoving his way in between Younghyun and Wonpil, “do you always have boys and girls falling at your feet like this?” Wonpil makes a surprised squeak at the thief's accusation, shoving him lightly, his nose scrunched up in sudden frustration.

“Wha-  _ that’s not what I meant! _ ” He yelps, making both Jae and Younghyun laugh, “I’m just- you’re  _ royalty!  _ And I’m just, I’m just a farm boy, I’m not  _ supposed  _ to be so comfortable, okay?” He glares at Jae, who makes a mildly impressed face at the smaller boy’s fierceness.

“Ooh, snippy, are we?” He taunts, “I like that. You’ve got to work on that confidence though- anybody can get with even the  _ noblest  _ princes if they try hard enough, ain’t that right Younghyunie?” Still laughing at Wonpil’s faint blush, Jae throws an arm around Younghyun’s shoulders, eyes sparkling with mirth. And Younghyun is surprised to find himself laughing along, oddly  _ comfortable  _ with these people only after days of knowing them- maybe it's the deadliness, the seriousness, of their cause that brings them closer together.

“Uh,” he stumbles, because he’s not quite sure how to answer that, “sure? Who’s trying?” He shoots back playfully, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Not me,” Jae shrugs, “him, apparently-”

“Jae I will  _ shoot you- _ ” 

“Oh, you couldn’t hit me if you  _ tried,  _ kid,” Jae smirks, making Wonpil give a little angry growl that to Younghyun, frankly, is akin to a lion cub attempting and failing to be fierce. Jae and Wonpil seem to fall easily into this type of bickering, he’s discovered, even though they’ve only been acquainted for several hours. Jae seems to find some kind of joy in getting the boy worked up, and Wonpil, despite being younger and seemingly timid, has no problem defending himself. Younghyun shoots a tired glance at Sungjin, who rolls his eyes.

“I think I  _ could _ ,” Wonpil fires back, pulling his bow from where it’s been strung across his back, making Sungjin leap to pull his hand away from the string before he can draw it back. Jae raises his hands in mock surrender, then glances around at their surroundings, looking for a suitable target.

“Hey, we don’t have time for-” Sungjin tries, his brow creasing with worry, but Younghyun stops him, half amused by the whole situation himself.

“Let them do it- I sort of want to see for myself,” he mutters to him.

“There- see that knot on the trunk of that tree?” Jae points to a tree maybe three hundred feet away, with a knot about the size of Younghyun’s fist barely visible from this distance, “hit it, then.” He grins triumphantly at the indignant expression on Wonpil’s face.

Regardless of his frustration, Wonpil steadily nocks an arrow, draws it back, and aims; Younghyun didn’t expect him to be this stubborn when he first emerged from the woods, scared and covered in ash, but now that he’s cleaned up and recovered, he notices the sharp angle of his set jaw, the steely glint in his eyes as he aims. Despite his youth, despite his bashfulness and apparent harmlessness, he proves to be something of a warrior.

Younghyun hears the twang of the bowstring releasing, and barely a second later, the loud thud of the arrow burying itself in the bark of the tree- and, to his honest surprise, in the very center of his makeshift target. 

He watches as Wonpil allows himself a small, satisfied grin at the way Jae loses his ability to speak for a moment, looking at the arrow, fletching feathers glinting pearly white in the late afternoon sun, and then back at Wonpil who lowers his bow to his side and calmly slings it back over his shoulder.

“Thank you for making me waste an arrow,” he says, smiling brightly at the thief before continuing to walk ahead, “now  _ come on,  _ just around this bend and we’ll be nearly there.”

* * *

To their relief, this town is not burned to ash, and in fact, is perhaps the most pleasant place Younghyun has laid eyes on since the night he fled the castle. Wonpil informs him that it’s called Lyranth, and most of its inhabitants are most likely completely unaware of the kingdom’s current plight. 

Comprised of a single main road with several smaller offshoots, all of the houses are made of the same spruce wood, found abundantly in the tall trees surrounding the clearing in which it is situated. People walk up and down the streets, some leading horses or mules, and others pushing carts full of farmed goods to sell; Younghyun quickly spots the inn Wonpil had mentioned, a slightly larger, rickety-looking building with a faded sign hanging over the door. Several horses graze in a small pasture nearby, their coats shining, their statures healthy and strong.

By now, the golden haze of dusk has started to fall upon the town and everything around it, the tops of the trees bathed in warm sunlight. Despite the nagging, constant feeling of being watched, being  _ chased,  _ Younghyun cannot help but be calmed by the lazy, sleepy feel of the atmosphere. 

“Hold on,” Sungjin darts out in front of them, holding a hand out, “how much money do we actually  _ have _ ? I’ve got a fair amount, but for rooms for all of us as well as supplies. . .” he trails off, giving the entrance to the inn a new, grim look, “not to mention sound horses that’ll be able to handle a lot of hard traveling.” Jae’s eyes light up suddenly.

“I don’t have much  _ on me,  _ but,” he says, grinning widely, “pickpocketing is one of my specialties-”    
“We are  _ not  _ stealing money from  _ anybody, _ ” Younghyun cuts him off, giving him a sharp look, “we’re not that desperate- we’ll double up on rooms if we have to, and I’m sure I have things we could sell should we need more.” He remembers, with a dull twinge of pain, the fact that he  _ had  _ escaped while still in his coronation clothes, perhaps overly bejeweled in all the ways he always thought were over the top and unnecessary; he digs around in his pockets, and finds several rings he’d slipped off his fingers several nights ago.

“But those are yours!” Wonpil gasps, “you don’t have to-”   
“If you really think I care about these,” Younghyun cuts him off drily, holding up one of the rings so that the emerald set inside glints green in the light, “you’re very wrong. What other use would they be of, anyways?” A deft hand snatches the item from his fingers, holding it up to the light to see it better. “ _ Hey- _ ”

“Thought you said you didn’t care, hm?” Jae taunts, using his several inches of height to keep it far out of Younghyun’s reach, “oh, to be rich and privileged, I can’t  _ imagine  _ what it must be like for you to part with-”

“ _ I-I’m not like that! _ ” Younghyun snaps, “throw it in the damn woods for all I care, I’m just trying to help,” he huffs, turning his back on the thief in frustration.

“These two,” Sungjin sighs loudly, clapping Wonpil on the shoulder, “are  _ insufferable.  _ Here, why don’t Younghyun and I see what we can get for these rings or whatever, and Jae and Wonpil can scout out the inn for us, see how much we have to pay for rooms and horses. You two,” he looks pointedly at Jae and Younghyun, “ need to cool down and get along, for all you’ve been through together already.” He then turns to where Jae and Wonpil are standing tentatively, awkwardly, waiting for the order to split off, “And honestly,  _ you two  _ need to learn to get along as well- my  _ God,  _ all these kids do is fight-” 

“Hey! He started it,” Wonpil accuses Jae, but he’s barely holding in his laughter, and Sungjin himself is fighting back a smile. A warmth flares up inside of Younghyun’s chest, just barely breaking through the thick, numb exhaustion he otherwise feels- in an odd, offbeat way, they seem like family already.

He and Sungjin fetch an impressive price for the rings, certainly enough gold to buy horses and supplies for all of them; Jae and Wonpil report back the prices at the town’s inn, and just as the sun finally dips behind the trees and casts semi darkness upon the valley, they sleep inside for the night.

The atmosphere inside is warm and comfortable; it’s not as though Younghyun has been to many inns at all- most of his time until now has been spent inside the castle walls- but it seems clean enough, the wooden floors polished and shining, the oil lamps on the walls burning brightly and casting a comfortable glow. There are only a few people inside, mostly rather beaten up looking farmers or travelers hunched over their drinks.

The man behind the counter looks up when they enter, pausing from where he’d been cleaning a glass. Contrary to the guests, the innkeeper himself is youthful, with bright eyes, round cheeks, and light brown hair that seems almost orange in the lighting, falling in waves over his forehead. He breaks into a disbelieving smile when he sees them enter, nearly dropping the glass he’d been cleaning in surprise.

“Pillie?” He asks, uncertainty in his tone, “is that really you?” Younghyun blinks, confused, before remembering that Wonpil  _ had  _ mentioned he knew the innkeeper.

“Kevin! Yeah, it is me!” Wonpil dashes over to the counter, the rest of them trailing behind him, an equally bright smile on his face.

“Are you alright?” The innkeeper, Kevin, asks, concern washing over his features, “I heard about what happened in Tarmon, everybody’s been on guard around here- is the farm okay?” Wonpil shakes his head sadly, and Kevin frowns. “At least you’re well, though I’ll bet you’re hungry and in need of a good night’s rest. And- oh,” he cuts himself off, as if noticing Younghyun, Jae and Sungjin standing behind him for the first time, “are you friends of Wonpil’s?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Sungjin says, “you could say we travel together. I’m Park Sungjin,” he says formally, giving a little bow of his head.

“I’m Jae,” Jae says, giving a little wave of his hand in greeting and flicking his hair out of his eyes. If Kevin notices his scar, he doesn’t show any outward reaction to it.

“And I’m-” Younghyun stops himself, suddenly unsure as to whether he should reveal his identity- if he does, he’ll be easily trackable, and he certainly doesn’t trust Kevin enough to take that risk. He glances back at the others, giving them a  _ what should I do  _ look, while Kevin waits expectantly.

“Brian,” Jae blurts out, shooting the innkeeper an easy grin and placing a hand on Younghyun’s shoulder, “his name is Brian. We’ve been on our feet for many hours now, sorry- he’s a bit out of it.” He pats Younghyun’s shoulder, as if reassuring him. Younghyun gives him a quizzical glance but plays along, quietly thankful for his quick thinking. Kevin smiles sunnily at him, laughing sympathetically.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Brian,” he says, “I understand how you feel, don’t worry- why don’t you all have a seat, and I’ll bring you all some stew. It’s nearly finished, and I’ll give it to you free of charge- unless, of course, your friend isn’t too tired to play us a tune or two?” He nods to the guitar strapped to Sungjin’s back, that Younghyun had nearly forgotten about. Sungjin nods, seemingly excited to have a chance to play. “But only  _ after  _ you’ve eaten.” 

When they finally do sit down, Younghyun realizes how exhausted he really is, his back and legs aching with relieved strain. His companions seem to share the sentiment; Jae groans loudly when he flops into the chair next to Younghyun, and Wonpil yawns, his eyes sleepy. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, content to say nothing and simply relax for at least a moment, aided by the cozy atmosphere. Wonpil’s head falls to rest on Sungjin’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. 

It’s this that makes his heart hurt for the boy, by the looks of him just  _ barely  _ an adult; Younghyun knows how it feels to have his family ripped away from him, and he admires Wonpil for his strength and his bravery through it all. Though Sungjin tenses up at the sudden contact, he soon relaxes, perhaps reaching the same conclusion as Younghyun- Wonpil has lost so much, and so suddenly, and the least they can do for him is give him the affection he needs. 

Kevin sets four, steaming bowls of soup in front of them and leaves them to it, going back behind his counter to continue his cleaning. Younghyun’s stomach growls loudly, and it occurs to him that the last time he ate a proper meal was at Sungjin’s cabin,  _ days _ ago by now. 

“Brian, huh?” Younghyun prompts as they eat, curiosity striking him as he remembers the impromptu name Jae gave him. “Why am I Brian, of all names?” Jae shrugs, shoving a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Dunno, you just look like a Brian,” he says simply, gesturing vaguely at Younghyun’s face.

“Okay?” He looks across the table to find Sungjin gently prodding Wonpil in an attempt to wake him, urging him to eat in a quiet whisper. His efforts seem futile, though, and Wonpil only yawns again, sleepily muttering something incomprehensible.

They scarf down several helpings each, hungry and weary from the long walk. Younghyun feels even more tired after eating, barely keeping his own eyes open as he watches Sungjin pull out his guitar, handling it gently and with care; Wonpil has taken to resting his chin in his hand, struggling to stay awake. He delicately tunes the strings and strums experimentally, making a rich, full sound, before starting to sing.

Compared to his relatively gentle speaking voice, Sungjin sings powerfully, his presence quickly captivating the entire room. The song he sings matches the atmosphere, slow and sentimental, though despite the softness of it he forms every word with sincere meaning, so that even though he’s half asleep, the chords still strike at Younghyun’s heart. He seems to be in his element, his eyes closed, his lips set in a small smile, his foot tapping along as he deftly picks at the strings. Though it sounds upbeat, the song seems to be about loneliness, something that in a way, applies to everybody seated at the table.

When he finishes the song, the entire inn claps; Sungjin bows his head in thanks, and then turns back to them, something like mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Jae,” he says, “now when’s the last time I heard  _ you  _ sing?” Younghyun looks at the thief, surprised- he hadn’t known he sang. Jae shakes his head, looking down at the table instead of meeting Sungjin or Younghyun’s eyes.

“Nah,” he says, “I don’t really do much of that anymore.”

“You sing?” Younghyun asks curiously. Jae shakes his head again, remarkably bashful compared to his usual state. Sungjin laughs, tuning his guitar’s strings again.

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy,” he prompts, “for old time’s sake?”   
  
“Shy?  _ Him? _ ” Younghyun asks, his tone somewhat teasing, but now he’s  _ really  _ curious. Jae bats him away, smacking his shoulder and huffing quietly, still refusing to look up. “Well, if it’s because you’re  _ terrible _ , don’t worry, we won't laugh at-”

“ _ Fine! _ ” He jumps up, chair screeching on the wooden floor, “but  _ only  _ because I’m  _ not  _ terrible.” He glares at Younghyun, who smirks, raising his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Of  _ course  _ that’s all it took.

Sungjin begins to strum again, starting off the song with his familiar, raspy voice gliding effortlessly over the notes. Younghyun watches Jae closely, noticing how though he seems reluctant, he’s swaying minutely, barely noticeable but most certainly there. 

It catches Younghyun off guard when he joins in, quiet at first, maybe the slightest bit unsteady, but distinctive all the same. He sounds- not quite higher than Sungjin, but smoother, light, bright, and airy- and Younghyun doesn’t know how to place it. Though he tries to hide it, Jae’s cheeks are dusted with pink, but his voice grows more confident as he continues to sing. He strikes Younghyun as something more delicate, suddenly, or- no, not quite delicate, but elegant, fine; his voice dances in the air like a playful breeze, runs like rivulets of silk always slipping just out of his grasp. Like a songbird, a nightingale, so vibrant in color and yet carrying an almost mournful undertone to even the brightest of notes. 

And then it’s over, and Younghyun snaps out of something like a trance. He blinks, shaking his head in an effort to clear his mind from that fog that overtook it- he must be tired, is all. Wonpil and Kevin, along with the entire audience, are clapping furiously, and he realizes that he should be clapping too.

Jae flops down next to him again, staring determinedly off at the far side of the inn, his cheeks still slightly rosy.

“Was that so terrible?” He mumbles, so quietly Younghyun can barely hear him. 

“No,” he responds, though he wishes he could bring himself to say more, “not at all.”

* * *

A few moments later, driven upstairs to their rooms by sheer exhaustion and having bid the kind innkeeper goodnight, the four linger in the dimly lit hallway, sorting out their room arrangements. Wonpil seems to have found something in particular he likes about Sungjin, as again he clings to him, barely keeping himself standing upright. Jae laughs, whispering something in Younghyun’s ear about how Sungjin’s always  _ hated  _ physical contact, and the fact that he’s even putting up with it is a testament to how tired he is himself. 

“We’ve only got two, and I don’t think I’m getting rid of this one anytime soon, so. . .” Sungjin shrugs, holding in a yawn as he hands Younghyun a key, “uh, good luck. Don’t kill each other, please.” Younghyun’s tired mind takes a moment to process what he’s said, before he’s being gently pulled away and into a smaller room.

“Remember,” Younghyun mumbles sleepily, “you’re not, you’re not allowed to kill me.” Jae laughs, slender fingers slipping from his wrist and throwing himself down onto the bed that creaks loudly when he lands.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he reassures him, before snuffing out the lamp, plunging them into darkness broken only by the silver moonlight leaking in from the window, “I’m just tired as hell.”   
  
“Oh.”

“Well are you coming, or not?” Jae’s voice splits the otherwise silent night. Right. Bed. 

“Yeah.” Carefully, he lays down on the mattress, the creak much softer this time; he doesn’t even have time to worry about keeping to his side of the bed before he falls asleep, exhaustion finally overtaking him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. I never said I was going to be original. I said this was self indulgent fantasy bullshit. so if I want to pull the bed sharing trope, that’s exactly what I’ll do thank you very much. This chapter in itself is just idiocy, the only reason it exists is to be a filler and also give them all a break, my poor boys. However I suggest you get hype for the next one. 
> 
> ALSO whoever reads my skz farm fic I know I’ve highkey abandoned it but worry not I’m SLOWLY SLOWLY cranking out the next few chapters in advance and I had no inspiration so I dropped it for a while anyways buT i started watching heartland from while I was bored so 😌 I have IDEAS now. It feels kind of boring and plotless so I have been resisting the urge to completely rebrand and rewrite but oh well. Also still in nctzen hell so I’m writing a baseball fic, it’s my comfort fic so you should ✨check it out✨ 
> 
> ok bye~


	11. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mightve fucked up the chapter order by accident this one is supposed to go before the one that i published last week idk how this is going to work but uuhhhh

_ Thundering hoofbeats echo inside his skull, disorienting him, making it hard for him to see what’s in front of him; even through the strange haze, rimmed with red and remaining stubbornly unfocused, he still, unwaveringly, painfully, knows what it is. _

_ His own heartbeat pounds loudly, mixing with the hoofbeats and making the noise inside his head nearly unbearable. A haunting voice, light and lilting, fades in and out, weaving itself into his consciousness, achingly familiar, though its owner remains stubbornly hidden to him. He cannot shake the feeling of being chased, but the sound never seems to grow closer, nor farther away. _

_ He only barely recognizes the crumpled shape on the ground, laid down in the bed of dead leaves and moss like a corpse, though still breathing, shuddering. He reaches out a hand, but he finds he can’t reach him, no matter how hard he strains. _

_ “You. . . have to. . . go. . .”  _

_ His voice whispers somewhere, warped and hidden beneath the constant roar, but Younghyun still hears him. Panting from the effort, his chest unbearably tight, his throat closing up, he pushes harder, trying to rip through whatever cruel, invisible force is keeping them apart.  _

_ “Go. . . now. . .”  _

_ Something falls into his outstretched hand, and he curls his fingers around it. _

Younghyun shoots upwards, throwing the covers off himself, suddenly unbearably warm. The hoofbeats are gone, leaving a slight ringing in his ears as his gaze darts around the moonlit room, the silence only punctuated by Jae’s soft snores. The tightness in his chest remains, and for a moment he struggles to breathe, his ragged gasps further filling the quiet. 

Jumping to his feet, he dives for his coat thrown in the corner, too panicked to consider the noise he’d be making; with shaky hands, he rummages through the pockets, remembering so  _ clearly  _ that thing Jackson had given him, that he’d quickly forgotten about in the moment- did he still have it? His fingers brush against a tiny object, wrapped in soft fabric, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Its weight is familiar in his hands, having just felt it moments ago in his dream. 

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing?” Jae grumbles, startling Younghyun, “what time is it?” 

“I just,” Younghyun struggles to speak, “I just remembered something, that’s all. You can go back to sleep, it’s fine.” With the thing clenched securely in his hand, he sits back down on his end of the bed, rolling into his back and holding it up to the moonlight tentatively. 

“Suit yourself.” Jae rolls over and promptly falls back asleep, leaving Younghyun feeling very small and very nervous as he turns the bundle over in his hands; he finds it to be a pouch, soft red and pulled tightly closed. He opens it, turning it over and emptying it’s contents into his open palm. 

A folded piece of paper and a single coin tumble out, the cool metal of feeling heavy in his hand. 

Slowly, he unfolds the paper first, the silver light cast unevenly upon him through the window only barely enough for him to read the words scribbled upon it. Almost immediately, he recognizes the slating, untidy scrawl belonging to Jackson, the familiar shapes of the letters ones he’s seen hundreds of times before; the sight brings a fresh rush of memory to the forefront of his mind, of days spent avoiding lessons and sneaking through the castle halls with his best friend, making his chest tighten once more with the pressure of grief.

_ Hey, old friend, _

_ If you’re reading this it means something’s gone wrong. I don’t know what the object attached is, I’m not allowed to know, but it was given to me directly by your father, the king, the night before your coronation. He told me to give this to you in the case of a major emergency, or a disaster. Whatever it is, he says you’ll understand what to do with it- I’m sure you will, you’ve always been smart. _

_ Like I said, if you’re seeing this at all, I’m probably not with you anymore, but that doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe, right? I know you’re probably being all selfless and guilty right now, thinking that you don’t deserve that kind of sacrifice or whatever, but I really believe you do.  _

_ So whatever thing you’re facing right now, you’re going to figure it out and kick it in the ass, because I know you can! And even if (no matter how much I hate to say it) I can’t physically be there, always remember I will  _ always  _ be your backup, and that will never change, no matter what.  _

_ Good luck, _

_ Jackson  _

He reads it once, twice, not quite hungrily- more mournfully, desperately- but still with such emotion that his fingers nearly tore the paper with the tension of their grip, that his jaw aches with how tightly it was clenched. This was, in a way, the last remaining relic,  _ reminder,  _ that he had of Jackson. He hadn’t had time to say goodbye, hadn’t had time to  _ comprehend  _ the very fact that his closest companion is  _ gone,  _ and the note seems to solidify that very fact right before his eyes. 

He forces himself to turn his attention to the coin still resting in his hand, patiently awaiting him. It’s just larger than his thumb, glinting coldly as he turns it over curiously, inspecting it. Old and rusted, he struggles to make out the miniscule details of its carving, but all he can recognize is what seems to be a talon, curving sharply until it reaches the edge of the coin. Ringing its entire circumference are unfamiliar characters, of a script he’s never seen before. 

_ You’ll understand what to do with it.  _

He doesn’t.

But it  _ must  _ be important, have  _ some  _ sort of significance or meaning, and he feels he owes it to Jackson and to his father (and hesitantly, yet perhaps most importantly, the entire  _ kingdom _ ) to find out what that is. Whoever holds power over the kingdom now, this  _ Bang Chan,  _ evidently has influence and a group of followers, though Younghyun can’t estimate how large or how powerful. He thinks back to what he saw in Tarmon, the rubble and the acrid stench of fire, and imagines it happening again, and again, and  _ again,  _ all across the kingdom,  _ his  _ kingdom. 

He remembers what Sungjin told him, only nights ago-  _ some things aren’t choices- they’re simply our duty. . . yours, prince, is to lead this kingdom out of darkness.  _ He does not believe he’s ready, and he does not believe he can, but he knows, surprisingly fiercely, that he must  _ try.  _

He takes one last glance at Jackson’s note before folding it carefully, slipping it back into his pocket, and turning to shake Jae awake, stricken with the shock of the realization- as if he hadn’t known the moment he fled the castle, as if he hadn’t known when Sungjin told him it was his  _ destiny _ .

“What time is it?” Jae mumbles, scrunching his eyes closed, “leave me alone, m’tired-”

“Jae,” Younghyun whispers urgently, “wake up. We have to save the kingdom-”

“-no shit we do, we can save it  _ tomorrow- _ ” Younghyun shoves the coin in front of his face, lacking the words to articulate his thoughts. Jae blinks at it, shakes his messy hair out of his eyes, and then looks back at Younghyun with a mildly exasperated look on his face.”What the hell is that?”

“It’s a- a coin, I think,” Younghyun says, words coming out in a jumbled rush due to his sudden excitement at the discovery, “but I’ve never seen anything like it before, it doesn’t seem to belong to this kingdom or any of the surrounding countries.” Jae snatches it out of his hand to examine it closer, lunging across the mattress with the motion and making Younghyun extremely aware of the fact that they’re sharing this bed.

After a moment’s inspection, Jae looks up at Younghyun with that same exasperated expression from before, though his eyes seem more awake now, alert. “You’re kidding me, right? Wait, where did you find this?” Younghyun suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want to tell him about the note, about  _ Jackson-  _ those things he holds close to his heart, too close to ever reveal to somebody like Jae.

“It was. . . in my pocket,” he says, glancing away, though it’s technically not a lie.

“You’re an idiot,” Jae tells him, yawning, “it’s nothing special, then. It’s just some game piece, or something.” He shrugs, tossing the coin back to Younghyun before turning back over on his side. Younghyun stares at the moonlit back of his head, stunned, for a moment.

“It’s  _ not _ .”

“Listen, I know things might be hard or whatever right now, but don’t be  _ delusional _ -”

“Will you  _ shut up!  _ I’m not being delusional, fine-” Younghyun snaps.

“-oh, yeah? The what the hell is it that makes you so sure your little scrap of metal is the key to saving your stupid kingdom?” Jae fires back, whipping around to shoot Younghyun a challenging look.  
“It’s yours, too, isn’t it?” Jae rolls his eyes.

“Oh,  _ barely _ .”

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Younghyun asks, incredulous.

“Not all of us grew up pampered  _ princes _ !” Jae snarls.

“That- that’s not the point!” Younghyun snaps back, “and you’re the one who  _ offered  _ to come along, you can leave whenever the hell you want,  _ can’t you? _ I’m. . .” he trails off, registering the trace of hurt glazing over Jae’s eyes, “I wasn’t finished, okay? There’s more, I just. . . go back to sleep, if you want. I’m sorry for waking you.” Jae stares at him for a long moment, as if trying to read him, studying the way the moonlight falls across his face. They’re both sitting with their legs crossed, on either side of the single bed, sheets and blankets rumpled around them, suddenly made shy by the privacy, the intimacy, of the entire setting.

“No, go on,” he replies quietly, averting his eyes and playing with his hands in his lap, “I should’ve let you finish.” Younghyun takes in a deep breath, pulling the folded note back out of his pocket; he doesn’t unfold it, that’s  _ too  _ much, but he holds it up for Jae to see all the same.

“My frie- the captain of the Royal Guard, my uh, assigned protector, he. . .” he starts, uncertain as to where he should start. Vaguely, he wonders why he’s telling Jae any of this at all, he hasn’t even told  _ Sungjin  _ the entire story yet, but somehow the fire has calmed in the thief’s eyes, and the little tilt of his head and the glimmer in his gaze makes Younghyun feel as though he’s truly listening. How quickly, he muses, the mood changes with him. “He gave this to me, just before he. . . right before I. . . well, soon before I met you, I suppose. He told me that- that it’s supposed to be for an emergency, just in case the throne gets compromised, or something, and that the king had given it to him directly. He said. . . he said I’d know what to do with it. So that’s,” he stutters, regarding Jae nervously, “that’s why I think it’s important.”

“Sounds like he meant a lot to you.”

“What?” Younghyun asks, taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” Jae repeats, “for jumping to conclusions like that. It’s hard, I guess, fro- from my position, to remember that you’re just human too. With feelings and relationships and things like that. You lost everyone. I know how that feels.” He says simply, shrugging his shoulders, “your captain- I can just tell, I guess, that he was more than just that, so I guess I understand why you were reluctant to tell  _ me,  _ of all people.” 

“To be fair, I don’t know much about you either,” Younghyun points out, half joking in an attempt to lift the somber mood, “and. . .yeah, I suppose he did. Mean a lot to me, I mean. That’s not the point, though- the point is that we have  _ something  _ that might lead us to a place where we can find some means to defeat this man, Bang Chan, or whatever.” 

“But where do we go from. . . _ here? _ ” Jae gestures, vaguely, perhaps acknowledging the absurdity of the current situation. Just the two of them- a runaway prince and a rogue- discussing plans to overthrow the evil king, in a cozy room in a pleasant inn at midnight, having started with an argument and somehow segued from something of a heart-to-heart to  _ whatever  _ the conversation is now. Younghyun kind of likes it, the air of absolute unpredictability and spontaneity that Jae seems to carry with him everywhere; and yet, hidden somewhere underneath it, a steady loyalty, an impressive dedication and caring that, though rarely shown, is present all the same. 

“Well,” Younghyun says, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, “we figure out wherever the hell this coin is from first, I suppose, but we’d better tell Sungjin and Wonpil. Should we wake them now?”

“They need their rest,” Jae stops him gently, “and so do we. Give everyone a few more hours, and we’ll all be ready to track down someone who can find us your weird coin place, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Younghyun agrees, and seemingly satisfied, Jae turns over again, pulling the covers over himself and growing quiet. Younghyun does the same, and finds that despite the discovery, he’s still exhausted, ready to slip back into sleep for the few hours he has left until dawn. Despite the jarring nature of his dream, and the sorrow still weighing like a stone on his chest, he feels somewhat lighter, warmer, as he drifts into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so short oopsies


	12. Emerald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that’s when Younghyun knew- he fucked up.

The night is perfect cover. 

Inky black clouds obscure the moon and stars, blanketing the land in deep indigo; the trees, seeming monstrous and gnarled with their branches curved like claws and their shadows swallowing everything within their reach, muffle all that happens on the ground far below them.

So it is with little disruption that two horses with coats to match the sky canter quietly into the small, sleeping town of Lyranth. Their riders are dressed similarly, black capes swishing around their feet as they dismount and hitch their steeds. Stepping silently, they move through the town like shadows, and to the untrained eye it would seem as if nobody was ever there at all. 

It was all too easy, really, to track him down, after all; after Felix nearly had him just a few miles south of Lyranth, there was only so many places he could go- organized settlements are few are far between so far north in the kingdom, so it was nearly  _ embarrassing  _ how quickly Jisung caught up with him. 

Darting down the abandoned streets, his partner- a less experienced boy Chan had  _ insisted  _ come along with him named Seungmin- trailing behind him, watching their backs,  _ just in case _ . But nobody knows they’re here, after all, and if all goes well nobody will ever know at all. 

There are only so many places one can hide in a small village like this, and perhaps too many places to leave traces of yourself behind. Jisung has done this one too many times- he knows where he needs to go, where he’ll find what he needs, to get the damn job done. Chan’s words still echo in his mind, the ones he spoke to him not long ago- ‘ _ Don’t you crave vengeance? Aren’t you glad that you’re finally able to bring down the very king who killed your parents?’  _ He does, of  _ course  _ he does- though he was just barely walking when it happened, he remembers the confusion, the fear, the  _ red  _ splattered everywhere he could see, and the endless years of pain and misery that came afterwards- and for the most part, he  _ got  _ his vengeance,  _ he _ was the force behind the blade that killed the king and his mighty dragon and  _ everything  _ he represented, and when he saw the blood it was just like when he was a child, except for this time he was the one who had spilled it. 

He discovered, that day, still concealed high up in the rafters of the castle with his mask pulled over his face and his knuckles white from holding on so tightly to the beams and his chest heaving, that he did not feel any sort of vengeful joy, seeing the chaos, hearing the screams, seeing red run like water down the steps to pool around the limp body of the old monarch, or to hear the massive crash as the great beast fell to the ground. He did not smile, or laugh, when he watched the prince’s face turn white, when the guardsmen pulled him away to where he knew he would have to follow, soon enough. 

There was none of the promised satisfaction that Chan had raised him to believe there would be, and that had been the only reason Jisung had ever kept on living in the first place. So what now? Now that vengeance has proved useless, now that he’s stuck dragging his feet and picking up the mess he’d left behind, what now?

He feels nothing.

He burned a town to the ground, and all of the people inside of it.

He still feels nothing. 

If he kills the prince too, will he feel something then? 

Killing is all he’s ever been taught to do, after all. 

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as he approaches his target, his fingers tightening around the handle of his dagger; there’s no time to think like that now. 

Waving for his partner to stay on the ground and keep watch, he effortlessly scales the side of the small shop, landing on the windowsill without a sound. Forcing his blade between the panes, he pries it open easily, slipping through the gap and landing catlike on the floor.

Inside is dark, the only lighting coming from the opened window behind him, illuminating a sliver of the room brightly; still, it is enough to see. Somewhat urgently, being sure to keep silent, he rifles through the cabinets and drawers before finding what he was hoping for. Between his thumb and forefinger, he lifts it up to the light, watching with fascination as it glints emerald green. A ring, so finely crafted and bejewled that it could not have ended up here unless it was sold by someone from far away, someone  _ so _ urgently in need of traveling money that he carelessly tossed away his possessions without a thought about how they’d give him away if someone came looking-  _ foolish,  _ Jisung thinks, and perhaps he’s truly upset about it, but he doesn’t let it sway his focus.

The floorboards creak behind him, and he whips around just in time to narrowly avoid broom being swung at his head, the velocity of it making a loud swishing noise just by his ear.

“Who are y-” Jisung leaps at the man with nearly inhuman speed, knocking his makeshift weapon out of his hand and throwing him against the wall with a loud thump; he pulls a dagger from his belt, holding it close to the shopkeeper’s throat.

In what little light there is, the first thing he notices is the man’s obvious youth- though his eyes are tired, his face pale, he is young, much younger than Jisung would have expected for a man living on his own like this.

“Who sold you this?” He hisses, bringing the ring up to the man’s eyes while keeping his dagger point pressed firmly against his neck. The man swallows, breathing heavily.

  
“N-nobody of importance,” he stutters, his wide eyes staring at Jisung’s hooded face fearfully, “just, just a traveler passing through!” Jisung presses the blade against his throat harder, a single drop of blood trickling down the man’s moonlit skin.   


“What’s your name?” Jisung demands.

“J-Jaehyun,” the shopkeeper chokes out, “why do  _ you  _ need to know-”

“You got a family,  _ Jaehyun _ ? You had better tell me who gave you this, or they’ll  _ never see you again,”  _ he hisses, thrusting the emerald-encrusted ring closer to the shopkeeper’s face. The man gasps for breath, struggling vainly against Jisung’s grip, trying and failing to avoid the tip of the blade slowly pressing harder against his neck.

“Fine,” he gasps, “I don’t know his name but he sold it to me earlier today, I- I think he and some others are staying at the inn just across the-”

Jisung slits his throat (he still feels nothing).

“Thanks- that’s all I needed to know.” 

He doesn’t look back when he hears the telltale thump of a body on the ground.

Slipping back outside through the front door, letting fresh air wash away some of the bitter aftertaste death often leaves him with, he motions to his partner, waiting silently, like a shadow, by the horses; he turns his head to the inn, windows dark and empty at this hour. 

He knows what must be done. 

And after that, after Jisung kills and kills and kills some more- what comes after that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> which Jaehyun ??? is it a random Jaehyun ??? i guess you’ll never know. I keep killing people it’s pretty bad like Jaehyun Of A Random Origin I promise I love you I just. SOMEBODY’S gotta go. Jisung jisung jisung character development ?? jisung backstory ?? jisung second main character ??? maybe maybe maybe I guess you’ll just have to wait and seeeEeEeeEeEeeEe


	13. Irrevocably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE ONLY REASON I HAVENT UPDATED IS BCAUSE I WAS TOO LAZY TO LOAD THE DOC SORRY VGVHC also this remains the sole chapter that's all funky and pov-switching so uh be ready for that i guess.

Younghyun wakes to a loud bang, and a muffled shout, piercing through his barely sleeping mind with painful sharpness. Eyes snapping open, he bolts upwards, a sorrowful, longing feeling slipping away from him from whatever dream he’d been having, replaced with brief terror and urgency, adrenaline surging through his veins.

Jae is already on the move, tugging him out of bed and tossing him his sword, only giving him a quick glance before slipping on his cloak and darting out the room, shouting something over his shoulder about an attack. 

Heart pounding in his ears, Younghyun scrambles at him, nearly tripping on the uneven wooden floors as he struggles to draw his blade; the inn is still dark, lit only by the dim light of the lanterns on the walls that cast long shadows on everything in sight.

He hears rather than sees Wonpil and Sungjin come up beside him, just as startled and breathless as him.

“ _ Don’t move! _ ” A foriegn voice shouts as they bolt down the stairs, whose speaker comes into sight moments after; two hooded figures dressed in black stand in the middle of the room, their shadows like phantoms dancing on the walls. One has the innkeeper, who struggles valiantly against his hold, pinned to the counter by a gloved hand; the other holds a knife close to his face, enough to make him shy backwards, though there’s nowhere for him to escape. 

“Stay right where you are, and come quietly, or he dies.” The second hooded man snarls, approaching swiftly. 

Startled, Younghyun backs up a few steps, steadily holding his sword at the ready; Jae rips a dagger from his belt, ready to lunge at the man; Wonpil yelps, but draws his bow nonetheless, nocking an arrow and aiming with shaky hands; Sungjin unsheaths a shortsword as well, and Younghyun notes it quietly- he hadn’t known he was a fighter at all.

“W-what do you want?” Younghyun demands, cursing the quiver in his voice; the hooded man laughs lowly, striding forwards with slow, deliberate steps until he’s only inches away, lifting his chin to meet the prince’s eyes. Younghyun knows  _ exactly  _ what he wants, of course.

“I think,” the man’s voice is taunting, laced with bitterness, “you  _ know _ what I want.” Younghyun can only barely see his face beneath the deep shadow of his hood, but he matches the sharp, calculating gaze he knows is hidden there. He feels a sudden, white-hot rush of  _ hatred  _ surge through him, and if he were not frozen on the spot he would have run the man through with his sword without a thought.

_ Is this the person that killed my parents? _

_ Is this the person that killed  _ Jackson?

“The question is,” the man continues; Younghyun feels the touch of a knifepoint poke his chest lightly, and drag upwards as he talks, his voice dripping with malice, “will you surrender willingly? Or,” the knife stops at the hollow of Younghyun’s throat, and lies there perfectly still, threatening to draw blood with every painful, passing second, “will I have to kill off all of your  _ friends  _ first?”

Quicker than he can process, deft fingers snatch the man’s wrist, relieving the pressure on Younghyun’s throat. Arm quivering from the effort of holding the hand gripping the blade away from Younghyun, Jae stares the man in the eye, his gaze scathing, burning. The dagger remains suspended in the air, glinting coldly. 

“And  _ I _ think,” Jae says, “we’ve had enough.” 

Without warning, the hooded man wrenches his arm, throwing Jae to the ground with a loud crash; Younghyun doesn’t have time to react before all hell breaks loose, the inn erupting into chaos. 

Narrowly avoiding a vicious slash from the man’s blade, he throws himself to the ground, skidding behind a table and dragging Jae’s stunned form with him. The thief jumps back to life, shoving Younghyun off roughly. 

“I can take care of myself!” He hisses, “watch it, they’re after you, not me-” he’s interrupted by the harsh sound of glass shattering, making Younghyun whip his head around to find the source of the noise. 

Kevin the innkeeper has smashed a glass, and is using it to fend off the second hooded man, wielding a large shard like he would a knife. His pleasant features contort into a dangerous, determined expression as he dodges the blows his opponent aims at him. 

In the split second of shock, Younghyun registers Sungjin and Wonpil across the room, circling and dodging swipes from the first man, Wonpil with his bowstring drawn taut and Sungjin with his blade held out defensively in front of him. 

“Just  _ go! _ ” Kevin gasps, narrowly ducking beneath a sharp jab aimed at his stomach, “take whatever horses and tack you need, don’t worry about it-”

Younghyun lunges across the room in time to stop the man’s dagger from running Kevin through, flicking it away with the tip of his sword; it clatters to the ground, leaving the cloaked man defenseless. 

Somewhere behind him, he hears a shout sounding jarringly like Wonpil, enough to distract him from the sound of the man before him unsheathing a long sword-  _ of course he wouldn’t be disarmed that easily-  _ but he’s too late, and he doesn’t manage to parry the brutal blow fully.

The screech of metal on metal cuts through the air as their swords collide, sparks flying, someone screaming-

Someone screaming his name?

A sudden, burning pain in his side that rips through his abdomen like a shockwave, making his knees buckle and and a silent shout of pain tear from his throat-

More screaming, fainter, further away-

He hits the floor hard but he doesn’t feel a thing, only pain, excruciating, pulsing-

Around him, the ground and walls seem to shake and then crumble, and the world seems to collapse on top of him; every move he makes sends sharper waves of nauseating agony through his side, but he scrambles to his feet as fast as he can, breathing sharp and uneven, sheer terror driving him to  _ move  _ despite every nerve in his body shrieking in pain.

He presses a hand to his side in futile effort to stop the pulse, the flow of something terribly hot and sticky and  _ red _ as he chokes on dust and runs away, though from what he doesn’t know.

Somewhere along the way a calloused hand grabs his arm and tugs him along and, too focused on trying not to vomit, he follows without question. He tastes fresh air instead of the stuffiness inside, suddenly, but screws his eyes shut; the sunlight is blinding.

A soothing voice murmurs in his ear, maybe belonging to the same hand that gently holds his; his body protests every step he takes, and colorful spots start to dot the insides of his eyelids, dizzying him. He can’t bring himself to take a full breath; every inhale brings a new stab of pain, brings him closer to falling completely unconscious.

He doesn’t know what the voice is saying, but it coaxes him into a deep, heavy sleep, where the pain is duller and he can rest; he cannot bring himself to wonder, or even care, whether he’ll ever wake up again.

* * *

“W-where are we going?” Wonpil calls out, his voice nearly drowned out by the pounding of four horse’s hooves on the ground; he rides at the back of the group, the reins of a second, riderless horse grasped in his hand as he leads it along. 

He doesn’t really like looking at where the person who’s supposed to be  _ on  _ that horse. He doesn’t really like the look of the dark red patch on his side that slowly gets bigger, or the pale white of his skin despite the golden morning sunlight beating down upon them. He doesn’t like the way he’s slumped over, sitting in front of Sungjin whose jaw is set and whose eyes are worried, scared, and uncertain. 

And it’s hard, too, for Wonpil to look at Jae, his posture strangely weak, his demeanor subdued, as he rides just ahead of him, just as it’s hard not to see where the deep green fabric of his cloak is messily torn, the missing shreds now dyed crimson and wrapped as tightly and carefully as they could around Younghyun’s unmoving body. 

“I don’t know,” Sungjin admits through clenched teeth, perhaps from the effort of keeping himself and Younghyun upright, or perhaps from the effort it takes to not look back. 

With nowhere left to look (not back, not at Jae, not at Younghyun) Wonpil settles one staring straight ahead, letting the steady hoofbeats drown out the thoughts racing through his head and numbing the panic still burning through his veins. 

He can’t quite recall what happened- he remembers being cornered by one of those strange men, maybe even the same ones that burned his entire life away only days ago, and then suddenly, the ceiling of the inn caved in; he didn’t even realize Younghyun had gotten hurt until Sungjin had to pull him out of the rubble, a rose of red blossoming on his side.

After that it had been a rush of confusion and panic, and a brief spat between Jae and Sungjin over who would take the unconscious prince with them (“ _ I can tell you can barely hold yourself upright, Jae, let me handle it!” _ ) and then wind whistling in his ears and the pace of their horses matching the racing of his heart.

They only ride for half an hour, fearful of hurting Younghyun even more with all of the movement, and veer off of the path into the woods, crashing through the undergrowth in search of someplace to hide, someplace  _ safe-  _ they don’t have time to wonder what happened to the cloaked assassins, to  _ Kevin,  _ and as much as Wonpil will mourn the loss of his friend if he  _ did  _ die in the collapse, he understands why they cannot go back. 

Eventually, out of breath and exhausted, they stop in a clearing thickly surrounded by foliage. Wonpil finds himself sitting tensely atop his mount, chest heaving, as he glances around, taking in the sudden quiet tranquility of his surroundings, starkly contrasted to their breathless rush only moments ago.

When he dismounts, his legs nearly buckle beneath him. He takes a minute to recollect himself, leaning against the sturdy side of the horse he’d taken, the first that had caught his eye in his panic, and gives it a grateful pat on the neck before it leans down to graze in the soft grass underfoot. Absently, he wonders if it has a name.

Part of him doesn’t want to look up. 

His hands are shaking slightly, maybe from fear, maybe from exhaustion, dehydration, hunger, he doesn’t _ know,  _ but just for a moment with the scents of nature and the silence of the forest surrounding him, he wants to pretend that none of this ever happened at all.

He doesn’t want to be scared, but he is. 

He’s  _ terrified.  _

He wants to go home but he can’t, he wants to see his family and wake up on his too-hard mattress and tend to the sheep like he does every morning but he  _ can’t  _ because all of that is gone, burned,  _ dead.  _

If he’d never offered to guide the others to Lyranth at all, would he be safer? Would he have wandered his way out of the woods alone, with only his bow and arrows as protection against whatever lurked in the shadows? Would he have spared himself all of this trouble, if he’d never approached Younghyun at all? 

He’s never known much else besides his family, his farm, and comfort- he’s not built for this like the others are. He’s not strong and steady like Sungjin, or cunning and quick-witted like Jae, or powerful and skilled like Younghyun; Wonpil isn’t a traveler, or a prince, or anything impressive at all. 

He feels the steady rise and fall of the horse’s side beneath his hand as he runs his fingers through soft fur, hating himself for tuning out the turmoil happening just a few meters away. Vaguely, he hears Sungjin and Jae arguing in hushed whispers- Wonpil doesn’t know how to help, how to handle it, how to do  _ anything  _ at all. He hates that he can’t bear to look at Younghyun, bloody and pale, that he can’t stomach the idea of him dying here in this mockingly peaceful meadow.

Is he still necessary, now that his guidance isn’t needed anymore? Will he be a burden, a hassle, for the others to care for now that they’ve moved beyond his little bubble of understanding?

A soft hand lands on his shoulder, startling him out of his anxious thoughts with a violent jerk. 

“Hey now,” Sungjin steps back, lifting his hands in a show of peace, “it’s just me.” Wonpil stares at him, speechless. The first thing he notices is that he looks  _ tired,  _ dark bags beneath his eyes, a worried crease between his brow. “I don’t think either of them made it out, or at least they gave up on following us. I’ll send Jae out to look around later, but for now we’re safe.” Despite the weariness in his eyes and in the way he holds himself, Sungjin gives Wonpil a reassuring grin. 

“I’m sorry,” Wonpil blurts out before he can stop himself, “for- for not helping with anything, I just- I can’t-” if sniffles, unable to bear looking at Sungjin. How selfish of him, when Younghyun might be  _ dying  _ and all he can do is worry about himself. “I-is he okay?” He asks, his voice breaking, “I should've done more, maybe-”

It’s only when Sungjin pulls Wonpil into his chest with careful hands that he realizes he’s trembling uncontrollably, collapsing into the older’s arms with no resistance.

“Don’t say that,” he tells him, his voice soft and steady, “you’ve been through so much. I think it’s admirable that you’re still with us at all, you’re very brave.’ Wonpil shakes his head, trying and failing to stop his pitiful shaking. “He’s hanging on, I think,” he adds on in a quieter voice, “there’s not much else we can do besides hope for the best.”

“But,” he stutters, blinking back tears, “you don’t really- really need me anymore, d-do you?” Sungjin frowns.

“What?” 

“I-I don’t want to hold you up, with whatever, whatever journey you’re on,” Wonpil blinks furiously, “I don’t d-do very much, do I?” 

Sungjin’s frown deepens as he stares down at Wonpil, surely judging the redness of his eyes and the tear tracks running down his cheeks. 

“Honestly,” Sungjin says carefully, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, “if you’re thinking of leaving, I’m not quite sure I could let you do that. I’d never forgive myself if something happened, and neither would Jae, or- or Younghyun, I know it. You are most certainly  _ not  _ useless,” he says firmly, “and not weak either, for being upset. These past few days have been a hell of a lot on all of us, and if- and if you’re blaming what happened to Younghyun on yourself,  _ please  _ don’t. It was nobody’s fault.” 

Wonpil doesn’t respond at first, only looks down, feeling a little safer in Sungjin’s embrace. “I-it was those men’s fault,” he finally says, anger sparking inside of him for all of the misery they’ve caused him, for  _ who knows how many _ . Maybe that’s why he was so eager to accompany Younghyun on his quest- he never wants what happened to his town to happen to anybody else.

Sungjin laughs, ruffling his hair. “That’s the spirit, I suppose.” He steps away, glancing off to the side where Jae and Younghyun must be, the tired, concerned expression falling over his features once more. “Here,” he offers, turning back to Wonpil, “we’re going to need a fire tonight- this far up, it gets awfully cold at night.” Wonpil had forgotten how far north they were, how closely the mountains loom over them. “Maybe some quiet would do you good.” He nods towards where the forest thickens. Taking a deep breath, Wonpil nods his head in agreement- he isn’t trembling anymore, but he still can’t quite process the day’s events, and even though inwardly he’s ashamed, he doesn’t think he can bear to stay with Jae and Younghyun for too long.

“Don’t get lost!” Sungjin calls after him, “and don’t even  _ think  _ about running away, I mean it. We’d miss you, Wonpil.” He says it sincerely, as Wonpil shoulders his bow and makes his way towards the edge of the forest.

“Okay,” he says, the waver finally gone from his voice, “I won’t.” 

* * *

Jae doesn’t like feeling vulnerable.

Jae doesn’t like feeling exposed, chained down,  _ helpless,  _ and yet that’s all he feels when he looks down at the man lying in a soft bed of grass, his head resting lightly on his lap. If he only focuses on his face, on how his lips are parted slightly, on how his lashes fan like feathers and cast pretty little shadows over his cheeks ( _ too pale,  _ he thinks and ignores it,  _ too pale _ ), he can almost pretend he’s just sleeping. 

If he disregards his shallow breathing, the weak pulse of his heartbeat only barely felt from where his hand rests on his chest, if he ignores the ugly blossom of blood painted in crimson blots on his side, he can pretend that he does not care as much as he does. 

His fingers absently play with one of the buttons on the prince’s shirt, twisting and untwisting it in a repetitive manner; he does not dare to think of how he would feel, should the pulse marching on valiantly but tiredly beneath his fingertips stop its beating. It would be the same for Sungjin, and maybe even for Wonpil too- and that is enough to scare him, to make him want to run away.

But he stopped doing that just recently, didn’t he? He brings his other hand up to his forehead, traces the already familiar path of his scar downwards, lightly brushing the pad of his finger over his eyelid before stopping where it tapers off in his cheek. Just as easily, he could have avoided it- avoided being peculiarly marked for the rest of his life by some after effect of dark mage’s magic, and just as easily he could have lived on as he has for years, alone, unbothered, and content.

Or so he thought.

And then this  _ idiot  _ stumbled into his life and asked for safe passage to the nearest village and Jae gave it to him, and then somehow Jae found himself unable to leave like he usually would. 

Forcing himself to remove his hand for just a moment, he instead reaches into the grass next to him, holding up a coin, rusted and inscribed with odd markings, up to eye level, turning it over and over so that the sunlight bounces off of its intricately carved surface in thousands of brilliant ways. It had fallen from the prince’s pocket when they’d lowered him onto the grass. Now, with a fire and fervor Jae hadn’t thought he was capable of possessing, he knows, despite his doubts, that he  _ has  _ to follow wherever it leads them- somewhere along the way, he’d bound himself to the prince and his quest, irrevocably and irreversibly. 

Whether it’s a death wish or not, he doesn’t know, but either way he can’t turn back now.

If he’d left him to fend for himself, the heartbeat now pulsing beneath his fingertips, ever struggling to keep its pace, would have stopped on that night. He swallows around the fear that threatens to rise up out of his throat and strangle him, because of the novelty of this strange dedication, devotion; because back then he would not have cared if Younghyun had died.

But now he does, and he doesn’t know how to stop.

(Does he even want to?)

* * *

As he steps lightly through the underbrush, careful not to make too much noise, Wonpil realizes exactly how  _ right  _ Sungin was. Early morning sunlight filters through the thick canopy high above, painting the forest floor gold; birds have begun to wake, singing their morning songs with energy and fervor that to Wonpil is contagious. 

Having grown up on the outskirts of town, Wonpil had often gone on long trips into the woods alone, usually to hunt for himself and the rest of his family. He feels comfortable, surrounded by the thick foliage and the curious, ever-present voice of the wild thrumming softly throughout the atmosphere, embraced and comforted by the familiar shadows of the ancient trees standing all around. 

He navigates the forest floor comfortably, stepping over raised roots and jagged rocks with practiced ease. When he sees a suitable, broken branch lying on the ground, he picks it up, slotting it into his quiver for later- it’s harder to feel as cowardly, as shameful as he did when the taste of fresh air lingers on his tongue.

At first he passes off the rustling as the breeze ruffling some loose branches, or a small animal scurrying through the bushes. 

But as time carries on, the noise continues, slowly drawing nearer to him. Lifting his head, he scans his surroundings warily, believing Sungjin’s reassurance that they’re safe but also fully aware of how wrong he may be. He pulls his bow from his back, nocking a precautionary arrow.

When it continues to draw nearer, he recognizes it as something heavier crashing through the underbrush- it could be any number of things, a deer, a bear, or even one of the formidable mountain wolves Wonpil has only heard legends of, with teeth as long as daggers and fur so thick no blade can penetrate it. Heartbeat quickening once more, he stands frozen, like a wild animal, staring at the source of the sound.

Suddenly, the forest doesn’t seem quite so welcoming anymore, so comfortable and familiar. The sunlight filtering in from above seems to dim, the shadows of the trees seem to elongate and twist into gnarled, threatening shapes.

Wonpil aims for the spot where the noise seems to be coming from, drawing back his bowstring with an arm quivering with fear, staring helplessly ahead at nothing at all.

“I-is somebody there?” He calls out, adrenaline coursing through his veins. No reply comes.

Then, silence.

Wonpil tightens his grip on the arrow despite how the muscles of his arms ache and burn.

Something emerges from the shadows, and without hesitation he shoots.

The arrow comes to a standstill in midair, rendered completely motionless. 

Wonpil’s gaze traces first across the arrow itself, stunned, fascinated by how it hovers, all the way down to its razor point. Just inches away from its deadly tip, he finds an outstretched hand, palm out. His mind moving in a sluggish fashion, he follows the hand down an arm clothed in deep blue fabric that has rips and tears scattered throughout, until he finally settles upon a face, turned away from him.

“W-what the-”

“P-please,” the stranger says, voice soft and deep and wavering with fear, “please don’t hurt me.” Slowly, he lowers his hand, the arrow clattering uselessly to the forest floor, and turns towards Wonpil, still poised to run like a skittish deer.

Through a curtain of soft dark hair, he meets the stranger’s eyes, startlingly green even in the shadows draped all around him, nearly matching the colors of the leaves all around him; for all of the noise he was making, Wonpil thinks, he seems. . . small. Still, he takes a precautionary step back, warnings blaring in his mind after what the others had told him about magical folk, mages, how Jae had acquired that startling bicolored effect in his eyes and barely escaped with his life- this boy, no matter how soft and harmless looking, could kill him with the mere thought of it if he wished to.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the boy as slowly, he leans down, picking the abandoned arrow up from the ground and stepping forward with wary movements, holding it out to Wonpil silently. Wonpil studies him for a moment, his soft features, tousled hair, the nicks and scratches peppering his hands and cheeks, the satchel hanging at his waist- when he ignores the stormy sea green of his eyes, he almost reminds Wonpil of himself.

“I won’t hurt you,” Wonpil says, taking the arrow from his hand cautiously, sliding it back into his quiver with the rest, “if you don’t hurt me.” His eyes dart to where the boy’s hand hangs still at his side. 

“I wouldn’t,” the boy says, looking away, “I’m just- just passing through.”

“Yeah,” Wonpil says, regarding him curiously, “me too. Where are you headed?” He questions, half afraid that the boy is somehow a scout, or a spy. 

Green eyes meet his again, steadier this time. “Away,” the boy says with sudden certainty, “away from here.” 

“Ah,” Wonpil says slowly, nodding his head, “us too.” The boy cocks his head, looking around, clearing his hair out of his eyes.

“Us?” He glances around warily, retreating another step back into the shadows.  _ Us,  _ Wonpil thinks, a sudden burst of warmth spreading in his chest at the thought of his companions, followed by a sharp stab of fear and panic. He should be heading back soon, he’s collected plenty of wood, and besides- it’s time he sees how Younghyun is faring.

_ Younghyun. _

Wait-

“You- you’re a mage,” Wonpil blurts out suddenly. The boy jumps, startled by the outburst, but nods, regarding Wonpil carefully.

“Uh- um, yeah, I guess I am-”

“Can you heal?” He asks urgently, “like- like with magic, or something?” The boy’s eyes widen, but he nods. So desperately he wanted to help, to be  _ useful,  _ and maybe he’s being reckless but anything that might save Younghyun is better than nothing.

“To a certain degree, I suppose,” he says warily, “why?”

“Because,” Wonpil says, taking a deep breath, “my friend is dying.” It hurts to say. “Can you help him? I’ll pay anything,” he adds, even though he barely has anything to give.

For a long, painful moment, the boy does nothing but stare at him. With his eyes, Wonpil pleads, silently begging the strangerm spy or not, to maybe,  _ maybe  _ give Younghyun a better chance; in a way, the prince might’ve saved him, and he can’t pass up the chance to return the favor.

“I- I can,” the boy  _ finally  _ says. Wonpil nearly cries.

“Thank you. . .” he trails off. The boy gives him the smallest of grins.

“Dowoon,” he supplies quietly.

“Thank you, Dowoon,” Wonpil says breathlessly, “here, follow me.” Without hesitation, he begins to lead the way back to their makeshift camp, the boy mage close behind. “Oh, I’m Wonpil, by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPSIE look who nearly dies AGAIN, god, jackson dies for ONE WEEK and this is what happens smh
> 
> in other news i just had to get that wonpil pov out of me it was a NEED. he's so soft and earnest and he simply adores sungjin with his entire heart. he's just babie but also badass. and jae we love him i needed to write in some of his inner angst and turmoil too obviously. mans definitely caught feels a while ago but it's ok, we don't talk about it. yet. i truly adore this story i forget how much love i invested in it until i reread these chapters and it all comes back agh it's my child. alsO DOWOON I LOVE dOWOONs characTER i cant stress this enOUGh he is so complex, i adore him. very much.


	14. Firelight

It takes a moment for Younghyun to get his bearings when he finally wakes up.

The only thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the deep tawny of twilight, the brightest stars already shining through the haze, through a sparse canopy of leaves; he finds himself lying on the ground, something soft draped over him like a blanket. Though every one of his muscles protest when he sits up, he realizes, with some shock, that he feels only a dull throb in his abdomen where he’d been stabbed. Barely pausing to check his surroundings, he checks the wound, and- there’s nothing there, but a faint, thin line, barely three inches long, scarring his stomach.

“Good morning, or- should I say good  _ evening _ ?” Jae’s voice startles him, and so does the soft thump of him throwing himself down to sit next to him, “how was your sleep?” Younghyun falters for a moment, thrown off by the thief’s nonchalant air, at the way he shoots him an easy grin.

“Uh,” he says, one hand resting unconsciously where he’d been hurt in something of a protective manner, “where did you come from?” His mind has yet to catch up with his body, and he tries his best to shake off the drowsiness still clouding his thoughts.

“Around three yards away, I’d expect,” Jae answers, jerking his head towards the other side of the clearing they seem to be in; in the shadows of the trees surrounding them, a fire crackles heartily, illuminating the faces of Sungjin and Wonpil, and- and a third, unfamiliar face, a boy perhaps around Wonpil’s age though certainly younger than Younghyun. He turns back to Jae, confused and suddenly wary.

“Who-”

“Wonpil came across him in the woods while you were out,” Jae explains, “he’s probably the only reason you woke up in the first place.” His expression turns serious, somber even, as he gives Younghyun a long look, his mismatched eyes nearly indistinguishable in the low light cast by the fire. 

“How?” Younghyun asks, “I mean, are you saying that I. . ?” He trails off.

“Yes, you most likely would have died if it weren’t for him,” Jae confirms, his lips turning down into a frown, “there was nothing any of us could have done. He used some kind of magic on you, I think.” Younghyun nods slowly, giving the strange boy another look- up close, would he have strange eyes, like the mage that gave Jae his scar? He seems small, wrapped up in a cloak that nearly swallows him, his soft cheeks and sharp jaw and softer eyes giving him an oddly contrasted look, but his expression is tired and troubled.

“Ah,” Younghyun says softly, “I should probably thank him for that, then.” He moves to stand up, only to nearly collapse when his legs buckle beneath him, a sharper stab of pain running through his abdomen. 

He’s caught by a pair of arms that lift him gently back to his feet and remain at his back and his waist until he regains his footing. “Careful now,” Jae says, laughing quietly, “I said he saved your life, not healed you completely. Take it easy, will you?” Younghyun glares at him as he leans down to pluck something off of the ground, about to fire back something like _well you could have warned me,_ but when he stands back up he notices him pulling his deep green cloak that seems to always be on him over his shoulders; that must have been what he’d been using as a blanket, then. When he notices Younghyun’s pause, Jae crosses his arms, arching an eyebrow. “Do you think you can make it over there, or do you need me to _carry_ you like the privileged prince you are?”

“I do  _ not _ ,” Younghyun snaps, and to prove his point makes his way carefully to where the others are sitting around the fire. When he’s finally reached by the warmth cast by the flames, he realizes how cold he had been. The others look up when he sits down with them, their expressions changing from tired to surprised; he takes a seat in the grass, careful not to jolt his still-tender wound, next to the unfamiliar boy, who looks at him shyly before glancing away.

“Well look who’s up and about,” Sungjin says with a grin, his eyes dancing with humor that barely disguises the relief hidden beneath, “how are you feeling?” Somebody passes him some bread they must have snatched from Kevin’s supply before they’d escaped, which he takes gratefully, but with a pang of sudden confusion and sadness- what had happened to Kevin and the inn? He can’t remember much past the initial fight, and he doesn’t know where they are _ ,  _ or how they escaped either.

He shakes off the ever-present guilt still lurking at the edges of his consciousness, the glaring fact that any one of the others could have been the one to be hurt, the sacrifices they must have made to get all of them, to get  _ him,  _ to safety. There’s no point in worrying over such things, he reminds himself.

“Not bad,” he says, shrugging, “though I suppose I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” He turns to his alleged savior, whose ears turn red at being addressed; up close, he looks even smaller, strangely, his face framed by soft, stray curls and dark blotches beneath his eyes from exhaustion. 

Wonpil gives him a soft nudge. “I- uh, there’s no need to thank me,” the boy stutters finally, “anybody would- would have done the same. B-besides, I didn’t even do it entirely right, sorry about that.” Younghyun notices the way his hands clench the fabric of his cloak wrapped around his knees, bunching it up tightly, and then the way he shoots a nervous glance across Younghyun and at Jae, who’s watching the boy just as carefully.

“No, really,” he pushes on, giving the boy a small smile, “that doesn’t matter, you still saved me. Thank you.” Up close, he realizes, the boy’s eyes do have a brighter, greenish hue, but not as dramatic, as  _ haunting,  _ as the amber he still sometimes sees when he closes his eyes to fall asleep.

“Y-you’re welcome,” he says, “I’m uh, I’m Dowoon, by the way.” Younghyun nods, deciding not to push him any further despite his curiosity- where did he come from? How did Wonpil find him?

It’s oddly comfortable, sitting cross-legged in the dewy night grass around a messily constructed campfire, thankfully giving off little smoke; the red of dusk has finally faded into deep night, and out in the wilderness, Younghyun notices for the first time, scores of new stars blink unblocked and undisturbed down at the earth. He glances around at the motley crew he’s somehow managed to collect since leaving the castle, consumed by the odd affinity he feels towards them already. 

“I don’t remember much of what happened after I- well, after I got run through with a sword,” Younghyun admits quietly, grimacing, “how did we get here?” They fill him in, Sungin explaining the lucky coincidence of the inn’s collapse, and their desperate run for cover afterwards, and also highlights the fact that he nearly had to knock Jae out too just to stop him from taking Younghyun with him on his horse; Younghyun gives the thief a thoughtful glance, wondering why he’s so adamantly stuck to him like a persistent burr despite claiming a preference for being alone.

“It’s not safe to assume that both of them were killed in the collapse, though,” Wonpil pipes up, “right? We should probably keep moving.” Sungjin nods approvingly, looking to Younghyun for input.

“F-forgive me for asking, but,” Dowoon says, nervously side-eyeing Jae again, “do you have any idea  _ why  _ the inn collapsed? It just- it just seems like an odd occurrence, is all.” Nervously, he plays with his hands, his gaze flickering back down to stare at the ground. Younghyun glances around, the others looking just as clueless as he feels; Wonpil and Sungjin exchange a glance and a shrug, and Jae’s expression is distant but thoughtful.

“No,” Sungjin says slowly, “I suppose we don’t. Maybe one of us knocked into a supporting beam or a wall during the fight?” He offers. Hesitantly, Dowoon nods. “Anyways, do you know where we need to go next?” He asks gently, directing his question at Younghyun “I know you’ve just woken up, but Wonpil’s right, we can’t assume anything.” 

Younghyun opens his mouth to tell them about Jackson’s note and the coin, but he falters when he can’t find it in any of his pockets. Jae taps him on the shoulder, prompting him to look over just as he produces both coin and paper from one of his inner pockets, handing them over with a nod. His heart jumps when he realizes-  _ did he read the note _ ? He doesn’t know why, but the thought makes him nervous, as though Jackson’s words, even scrawled messily on a page, are too precious to him to hand over to just anyone.

Perhaps Jae notices the sudden mistrust flashing in his eyes, because his gaze softens and he leans over to say quietly, “No, I didn’t open whatever that paper is. Do you really think that lowly of me?” Younghyun shakes his head, relief washing over him. Someday, maybe, Jae will know.

“Does anybody have any idea where,” he holds up the coin, slipping the note back into his pocket, “ _ this  _ is from?” It glints in the firelight, winking brightly like the stars above. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Dowoon takes it with some hesitance, turning it over in his hands as he observes it. 

“Actually,” he looks up, meeting Younghyun’s eyes, “I- well, I don’t, but I swear I’ve seen it before  _ somewhere _ ,” he says, “but why?” For a moment, Younghyun hesitates, but he realizes he’ll risk giving even a stranger the information regarding their quest in order to continue it- besides, Dowoon  _ did  _ voluntarily heal him, so why would he have reason to think the boy has any malicious intent?

Taking a deep breath, he gives a quick recounting of the most important events so far, reluctantly revealing his identity to the mage and the importance of the coin’s source. Dowoon’s eyes widen, his face draining of some color when Younghyun mentions the other mage he and Jae had encountered, but he doesn’t question it now.

“So,” he finishes, pointing to the coin resting on Dowoon’s palm, “I believe we need to go to wherever  _ that  _ is from. It’s the only lead, and,” he looks up at the others, their faces illuminated by the firelight, “the only hope we have.” Sungin and Wonpil, who hadn’t known before, nod solemnly. 

Silently but urgently, Dowoon opens the satchel resting at his feet, pulling out a thick book; the cover is bound in leather dyed deep red, and inscribed with words in a language Younghyun can’t understand, but it looks familiar, almost. He watches over the young mage’s shoulder as he flips through yellowed pages, all inked with the same odd language with intermittent illustrations. Fascinated, Younghyun wonders what it all means, where it came from- for all the hours he’s spent hidden away in the castle library, he’s never seen anything like it before.

After a moment of tense silence, Dowoon points to the top corner of a page, the illustration a little smudged but still recognizable- the same coin, the same odd symbols carved into the drawn imitation of the metal and the jarring image of a long-bodied, serpentine dragon curving into knots in the center. 

“You’ve got what seems to be one of the only surviving relics of the Origin,” he says with some hesitation, squinting down at the obscure letters on the page. When he only gets confused looks from everybody, he continues, “you know, the origin of all magic?” He cocks his head, looking at Jae again. “Y-you don’t know?” Jae points to himself, raising his eyebrows.

“ _ Me _ ? Why the hell would  _ I _ know?” He asks. Dowoon’s face contorts in confusion for a moment, before falling back into a more passive expression once more.

“Nevermind,” he says, shrugging and continuing on with a confidence Younghyun didn’t know he had in him, “though there are no proven facts about it, the place your coin is from is thought to be the land where all magic came from, but the only real records of it are often so ancient or scrambled nobody really knows if it ever existed at all. The myths say that it lies somewhere in the northern sea, hidden to the mortal eye, but nobody’s ever found a trace of it.” He shuts the book with a soft thump, handing the coin back to Younghyun, curiosity starting to replace his earlier wariness. “Where did you come by this, exactly?”

“It was given to me by- by somebody important,” Younghyun says, biting back the bitterness and grief trying to push its way through at any mention of Jackson, “somebody trustworthy. He told me that it would help us do. . . well, whatever we’re doing.” Dowoon cocks his head again, resembling an owl.

‘What  _ are  _ you doing?” He asks, looking around at them all gathered around the campfire, “A-again, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Doing what we can,” Younghyun says, “as far as I know, and honestly, I don’t know much, this is the best chance we have as recovering this kingdom- I don’t mean to sound self-righteous or anything, but I suppose it is sort of my job to do that anyways, isn’t it?” He turns the coin over in his fingers, absently inspecting it as he speaks. “To me, it sounds like people are dying, and whoever was strong enough to orchestrate an- an assassination of that degree won’t be very easy to take down. So we may as well try to figure it out, yeah?” 

To his surprise a small chorus of cheers rises up at his words; Sungjin grins at him, nodding approvingly, and Wonpil’s eyes shimmer with admiration. Jae pats him lightly on the back in a  _ good job  _ type of way, and it helps, a little, with the surge of emotion threatening to break through the feeble walls he’d managed to put up.

He wouldn’t be doing this at all if it weren’t for Jackson, for his father, with their  _ endless _ encouragements and reassurances that he has what it takes to be a king. Sungjin had put it more simply than they ever could have, though, years and years of uncertainty and self doubt all boiled down into one, simple fact- it does not matter how much he believes he’s unworthy, and it does not matter how afraid he is. He’s been a coward all his life, still  _ is  _ one, and to continue to be one is to single handedly let his kingdom  _ die _ .

No matter how much he doesn’t want to, he needs to try, or remain a disappointment to his closest loved ones for the rest of his life. And maybe he’ll die doing it, but at this very moment he’d rather die in the attempt than live with the failure.

At least he doesn’t have to do it alone.

“So what does  _ that, _ ” Wonpil points to the coin, “mean for us?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jae asks, something of a reckless grin forming on his face, his strange appearance more jarring, haunting, than ever in the dancing firelight. “We find the damn place, imaginary or not.”

Despite the excitement of their discovery, Younghyun finds himself already becoming tired, the dull throb returning to bother him as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat on the ground. It’s only been about an hour since he’s woken up, but the comfortable atmosphere around the fire and the warmth of the flames has managed to make him sleepy, combined with the pained fatigue still wracking his body. 

Sungjin and Wonpil have retired to the makeshift shelter made by the brush at the edges of the clearing, wrapping themselves in their traveling cloaks in an attempt to get some sleep on the hard, half-frozen ground before they resume their quest tomorrow; Dowoon sits nearby them awkwardly, leaning with his back up against a tree, his hood flipped up over his head. The horses snort and nicker softly at the other end of the clearing, grazing on the lush grass, and a lone owl hoots a lonely song from somewhere high up in the branches above. 

Blanketed by the starry sky and guarded by the high peaks of the mountains looming close by, Younghyun cannot help the safe, peaceful calm that washes over him as he sits still by the fire, unable to fall asleep despite his weariness.

Jae volunteered to take the first watch, as they can’t be sure both of their attackers died back at the inn, and Dowoon had warned them of the packs of massive wolves that sometimes roam the area by night, and so Younghyun keeps him company, though he seems content to remain in mutual silence.

“Tomorrow,” Younghyun murmurs half to himself, interrupted by a yawn, “tomorrow we’ll head out, then. Do you think there’ll be any trouble at the border?” Jae laughs from where he’d been absentmindedly sharpening one of his daggers next to him. 

“If you think we’re crossing the border legally  _ at all,  _ you’re completely wrong,” he scoffs, “it might’ve been easy for you, but trust me, I’ve tried before, and I’m  _ sure  _ this Bang Chan man, as evil as he seems, is smart- he won’t be letting anybody out, if he can help it. If it was hard to sneak through when the old king was still in power, it’ll be hell to do it now.” The mountains draw a tall, jagged line across the entire continent, forming the border between two kingdoms- Younghyun’s own, and the neighboring kingdom Lirvien.

“When have you tried to leave before?” Younghyun asks, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “And why not, you know, the  _ legal  _ way?” Jae laughs again, this time a loud, full sound. 

“Do I need to remind you how we met, your highness?” He asks, holding back more laughter at Younghyun’s obvious distaste of the name, “I hate to break it to you, but if you hadn’t been so adept at  _ defending _ yourself, my only aim was to rob you.”

“But you didn’t,” Younghyun points out, grinning. 

“Yeah, because you almost  _ killed me. _ ” Jae huffs. “My main profession is stealing things for people, who sell those things, and then give  _ me  _ money. The road you were traveling  _ happened _ to be one of my favorite places to jump on unsuspecting travelers is all.” He shrugs.

Younghyun looks at him curiously, wondering how he can take such pride in something so- so  _ low.  _ Not that it much changes the way he views Jae, he’d always assumed something of the sort, but he can’t help but be curious to know why he chose that life, or how it came upon him. 

Catching his pensive expression (something Jae seems to be especially well attuned to, Younghyun notices), Jae adds on, “We weren’t all born in a palace, you know.” 

“I wasn’t- I don’t think- you’re-” Younghyun’s tired mind struggles to reassure him that he wasn’t thinking anything bad, when Jae cuts him off. 

“Calm down, don’t go injuring yourself again or something,” he laughs quietly, “I don’t mean anything by it, you’re just funny when you’re flustered.” Younghyun glares at him. 

“You just. . .” Younghyun trails off, briefly reflecting on exactly how lucky he is, to have grown up with such luck and comfort, how he’d always had his life planned out for him, even  _ handed  _ to him at times, “do you enjoy it? The life you have, I mean.” He chooses his words carefully.

Jae twists the dagger between his fingers, the humor in his demeanor slightly diminished. “There was a time,” he says slowly, “when I probably would have killed to have a life like yours. Do I enjoy mine? No, but I value it all the same- I could be much worse off, I suppose,” he says, shrugging, “it’s about perspective.” His eyes reveal something far deeper, far more broken and deep-rooted than Younghyun has the ability to understand. “While you might not view it as honorable, this is the role I’ve been given,” he gestures to himself vaguely, “regardless of whether I wanted it or not. I suppose it’s up to you to decide how much it’s worth, in the end.”

In a way, his explanation stings, in a truthful, brutally honest way. Something about it rings painfully familiar in Younghyun’s mind: ‘ _ regardless of whether I wanted it or not. _ ’ He may not quite understand Jae’s background, as shrouded in mystery as it is, but he can understand  _ that  _ just fine. 

“As far as I’m concerned,” he responds, “you’re worth more than I care to count- do  _ I  _ need to remind  _ you _ how we met?” He echoes, “You nearly  _ died _ for me, a complete stranger. I don’t care how honorable or dishonorable of a place you’ve come from,” he says fiercely, “what matters is the thing’s you’ve decided to do along the way.” 

Jae blinks at him, punctuating a length of silence before he breaks out into a small smile. “Maybe you would make a better king than I thought you would,” he remarks, “you’ve got a certain way with words, don’t you?”

It’s Younghyun’s turn to laugh, though he’s quickly cut off by a sharp pain in his side that makes him gasp; Jae’s expression quickly turns to one of concern. 

“You should probably get some rest,” he says, glancing at the dwindling glow of the embers in the fire, “traveling tomorrow is going to be hard enough for you as it is.” He pats the ground invitingly. Younghyun shakes his head, ready to insist that he’s  _ fine,  _ when another yawn finds its way out of him, and he suddenly remembers how tired he is. “I’ll wake up Sungjin for the next watch when it’s time.”

Shifting a ways away from Jae, he finds the warmest spot he can and, despite the hardness of the ground, is overtaken by exhaustion, so tired that he doesn’t even notice the soft, familiar cloak being carefully draped over him like a blanket before he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a catch 🤝 embers 2 ashes both ending their new chapters w the mc falling asleep and their ✨love interest✨ choosing to be extra soft just bc they’re supposed to be asleep. i have no variety no creativity. every plot is the same. youve been fooled they’re all the same exact story just wearing a different trench coat every time

**Author's Note:**

> okay. whEW. so hello it's me, your boy, here with yet another wip to stack onto my other unfinished ones hahahahahhhahahhsbhvdhvfhgvfeh. bUT the reason i've decided to publish this bad boy again is because, as you may know, school sucks ass and i don't have any time to exist, and i have a fuCKTON of this nice and prewritten. so it's just convenient for now.
> 
> i'd like to address the fact that skz are the bad guys here. yes, they are, and for a very important reason. or two. one, because chan is the sexiest villain ever and two, it's very relevant to people's character development later on. i mean no hate and like tbh they're all great and badass, like felix's character?? 11/10. it's all funsies i fucking loVE stray kids. 
> 
> anyways i hope you guise enjoy this i've worked pretty hard and i am excited !! <3


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